Kryptonite
by Your Angel of Music
Summary: After 2,000 years buried beneath Cardiff, Jack's mind is crumbling. Ianto will do anything to avoid losing him again – but how do you fix a broken man when you are falling apart yourself? Jack/Ianto.
1. The Dark Side Of The Moon

**Title:** Kryptonite

**Rating:** M (NC-17). Strong mentions of sex, suicide, and other angst in a similar vein.

**Characters/Pairings:** Jack/Ianto, Gwen/Rhys, Martha, Rhiannon, others may crop up as well.

**Spoilers:** Set after Exit Wounds

**Summary:** After 2,000 years buried beneath Cardiff, Jack's mind is crumbling. Ianto will do anything to avoid losing him again – but how do you fix a broken man?

**A/N: **This was originally a one-shot of the same name for my "What Cannot Be Expressed" Series. I was encouraged by several people to feel that this was a subject that hasn't received enough coverage, and that it would be better suited as a series. It's named after a song called "Kryptonite" by 3 Doors Down; I'm trying to put a relevant line from the song as a subheading for each chapter. I have no beta, therefore all mistakes are mine - if you spot any mistakes grammatically, please do not hesitate to let me know and I'll change it.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Torchwood, the long-lasting repurcussions of actions and events would be properly explored. Obviously, I do not own Torchwood. Hence...FanFiction.

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**Kryptonite**

**"_I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon."_**

The mortuary door closed smoothly and cleanly, the body inside catalogued and filed; just one more number, on a long, long list of numbers.

The clipboard in Ianto's hand trembled ever so slightly as he stared at the smooth, polished surface. The silver metal of the mortuary seemed to shimmer slightly in the aged, flickering lights of the oldest part of the Torchwood Hub, giving the room an uncertain, timid feel. It was serene, almost, in its dull quaintness. Had the casual observer been given the choice, they would certainly not have perceived this room to be the place where a thousand dreams had shrivelled and died.

Ianto shivered again, the cold breeze of the room clinging to his skin and causing the hairs on his neck to rise. He had been in this room a thousand times before; his job was decidedly morbid, enough so that he had been numbed to the thought that a thousand dead bodies lay behind each of those numbered doors. That's all they were to him now – numbers. Files in a drawer, locked away and out of sight. It was easier that way.

At least, he thought it was.

That was until he found himself closing the door on Toshiko Sato. Something about the once olive skin, turned paler than should be natural with the trauma of death; those bright, intelligent eyes that had once flickered sarcastically across the room, lit up with an indescribable light whenever that infamous "Eureka!" moment had hit, now dulled to a endless stare; something about the empty void that he could feel with every breath, made this so much harder. This was not like any other body he had sorted and catalogued, not like any other life he had diminished into a few words in a yellowing filing cabinet.

Every stroke of the pen on the paper brought images of Toshiko, smiling, crying, sparkling and so damned _alive. _Each reminder of a life cut short was like a knife being run across his skin, each word noted down like a punch deep into his gut. His whole body trembled with the pain, the uncertainty, his writing unsteady and unlike the neat scrawl that littered so many documents in the archives. He closed his eyes, breathed in slowly, and opened them again; something within him told him that all he was doing was destroying the memory of his friend, diminishing and reducing her with each "i" dotted and each "t" crossed.

But it had to be done – he gripped the pen tighter in his grasp, his teeth sinking deeply enough into his bottom lip to draw blood as he struggled to still the uncontrollable spasms running through the muscles of his arm. The filing, the numbers, usually brought him a sense of security, a sense that he was somehow in charge of a situation that was steadily spiralling out of control. This was protocol, this was duty, this is what had always been done and would continue to be done, even when it was him lying motionless in that cold, silver coffin.

It had to be done…it had to be _finished_.

Completing the form with a final swipe of his pen, Ianto released the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and let the clipboard fall to his side. The wooden corner hung limply by his left leg, deflecting gently off his thigh as he tried to force some oxygen back into his brain. It felt as though there were hands tightening around his neck, and he struggled to push the blood-flow back into his brain; he could barely conjure up a coherent thought, and yet he knew he had to. It was what he _needed_ to do, because that's what he did. He was Ianto Jones, the oil that kept the cogs of Torchwood turning, and that wasn't going to change now.

Straightening his shoulder and reasserting that butler posture he had perfected, Ianto began to turn, forcing his brain to concentrate only on putting one foot in front of the other. This was just another body, another job, another Torchwood casualty filed away and forgotten.

Only, this time, it wasn't.

Stopping suddenly, Ianto swallowed hard and let his body turn around of its own accord, walking back and crouching down next to the silvery dullness of the mortuary drawer. A painful lump gathering at the back of his throat, he reached up and ran his hand gently over the un-polished surface. He let his fingers trail across the letters slowly as a single tear tracked a steady path down his face.

" 'Bye, Tosh."

***

Ianto emerged into the uncomfortable silence of the Hub just as Gwen was getting ready to leave. Her bottom lip was trembling gently, her face contorted with the effort of keeping her face as steady as possible. As much as she tried to hide it, her pain was obvious to Ianto even from the other side of the base. He turned his face away, heading down to the autopsy bay to begin the grim task of cleaning away the red stain across the white tiles. It wasn't a job that he was looking forward to, but it was _his_ job; considering the circumstances, it was all he could do.

A hand on his arm stopped him as he reached the stairs, lips brushing gently onto his cheek as slim arms drew him into a soft hug.

"Promise me you'll look after yourself as well, okay?"

Ianto nodded as Gwen pulled back, flashing her a slightly watery smile. She squeezed his arm one more time, her mouth turning upwards as far as she could manage, before leaving him to the job that she knew he wouldn't let himself not do. The lights at the cogwheel door flashed as she left, leaving the heavy air of the Hub for what was hopefully some semblance of comfort in the arms of her husband. Ianto smiled sadly, the thought causing him to cast a glance towards Jack's office; he knew he would probably have to be the comforter tonight, and the prospect scared him.

Ianto had never felt himself to be particularly good at comforting. It had been one of the most painful things to tug at his heart when he was still hiding Lisa – watching her scream and cry, try to fight the monstrosity inside her, and unable to do or say anything to make it feel better. If she had had someone else, he had thought, maybe they could have alleviated the pain with their words, with their touch. Maybe, he had often told himself, she would have survived, would have been able to fight the cyber-technology successfully if only she had had someone who knew the right words.

For now, however, he had a job to do. Descending quickly to the white glossiness of the autopsy room, he retrieved the mop bucket and got to work removing the last remnant of Tosh's brief life from the floor. His heart clenched as he thought of what she had been reduced to; a white figure in a morgue drawer, a number on a file, a red stain on the floor. Perhaps he was making it worse, confining her to her metal coffin and removing her last trace as if it were a spilt drink. Perhaps it would be easier to leave it.

But he couldn't. There would be new teams, new missions, new Toshes and Owens and Iantos and Gwens, new lives and deaths, new numbers on a file and new mortuary drawers filled. Life had to move on because that was what it did, he thought, that was what it always _bloody did_, never giving you time to grieve and to hurt and to get over the pain. If you didn't move with it then you shrivelled and died. Jack had taught him that.

"_You can't be helped unless you help yourself_."

Suddenly, a shot rang out, shattering the stillness of the Hub. Ianto's head jerked upwards, the echo ringing in the air around him; he could feel his heart beating frenetically, almost jumping out of his chest with sheer panic. He remembered all those time when a gun had taken everything away from him…Lisa, Tosh, Owen…his childhood.

_Blood pooling on the floor…white tiles stained red…screaming…lots and lots of screaming…_

A second gunshot shattered his reverie, pulling him out of his memories and forcing his limbs to move. He hadn't moved this fast since he'd heard Jack's panicked cry upon finding Tosh; sprinting as fast as his tired muscles would carry him, he took the stairs of the autopsy room two at a time, his sense leading him instinctively to Jack's office. He knew he should have been there, should have followed Jack out of the morgue instead of staying to complete the paperwork...but there was just so much he'd had to _do_. The filing, the recording, the cleaning – Ianto had needed to do it, needed some pretence at normality, at control. He gulped as he neared the door to Jack's office; it obviously wasn't _enough. _

The sight of Jack lying motionless on the floor hit him like an arrow between the eyes, his hands instinctively going into spasm, clutching at the doorframe and to keep himself upright. He wanted to gag, to curl into a ball and pretend that the last twenty-four hours had never happened, that he wasn't seeing this, wasn't feeling this. But, of course, he couldn't. He was the one who kept Torchwood working, kept it all running smoothly – that role hadn't changed.

Inching forward, he lowered himself to the floor beside the prone form of his lover. The redness soaked into the material of his trousers, mingling with the flecks of Tosh's blood that were already there. He could see the weapon, Jack's Webley, still clutched in Jack's fingers, cold and clawed in the spasms of death. There was something strangely surreal about the situation – he had seen Jack die many times, seen him sacrifice himself for the greater good, but this was different. It was almost as if some ritual had taken place, something sacred which Ianto couldn't quite comprehend.

Reaching out tentatively, Ianto ran his fingertips up Jack's chest, pulling away the tattered fragments of his shirt so that the bullet hole in his chest would heal cleanly. His eyes flickered to the wound on Jack's forehead as he did so, the gentle stream of red leaking in between his eyes sending an uncomfortable tremor through his gut. Why Jack didn't just shoot himself in the head, he didn't understand; a macabre part of Ianto's brain needed to understand why Jack would cause himself the pain of a chest shot before ending it all. Why did he…?

"Oh God."

The sudden realisation of what Jack had been trying to do caused him to tug at the collar of Jack's shirt, drawing his head onto his lap and cradling him as gently as possible. Jack had wanted to _hurt_ before he died…he'd been trying to punish himself, to take away the pain in his heart by transferring that pain to his body. A slow tear trailed down Ianto's cheek, the only sign that he was breaking inside. He'd trained himself to hold his emotions in check for as long as was humanly possible, and he was _not_ going to be a mess when Jack woke up.

A gargled cry filled the air as Jack lurched forward, dragged cruelly back into life for the thousandth time. Ianto clutched at him as tightly as possible without hurting him, trying to reassure both Jack and himself that he was real, and solid, and _here_. Jack flailed madly for longer than was normal, pushing against Ianto frantically – more for selfish reasons than anything else, Ianto refused to let him go, carding his fingers through his hair and clasping him to his chest.

Eventually, Jack calmed down, his breathing steadying as his eyes met Ianto's. Ianto tried a smile, feeling it slip of his face as the light of recognition in his lover's eyes failed to come on.

"Jack?" Ianto cupped his face gently, running a tentative finger along his jawbone. "It's Ianto."

Jack's gaze faltered, his irises moving uncertainly around the room before resting back on Ianto's face. Ianto felt a flip in his stomach as he saw some semblance of recognition, of memory in Jack's eyes. He tried to smile again, brushing his thumb across Jack's lips, frowning as Jack pushed his hand away and sat up. Ianto pulled his hand back abruptly, not wanting to do anything Jack didn't want him to do; he didn't know what was wrong, what was happening, but there was something missing in Jack's eyes.

Before he could figure out what, the Captain turned to him again, letting his weight sag slightly against the young Welshman's chest; Ianto responded by slipping his arm around Jack's shoulders, pulling him as close as he dared. Ianto could see that Jack recognised him, and that, at least, lifted a heavy weight from his shoulders.

But when he looked into Jack's eyes - saw the dull emptiness behind those pupils, felt the tremors in Jack's body as he held him - he felt a heavy pressure pushing down on him again, forcing the air from his lungs.

Something was very wrong.

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**Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. The next chapter is already written, so it should be up very soon. After that, however, you're going to have to bear with me, as it's been a long time since I tried to write a multi-part fic. Don't be afraid to shout at me if I'm taking too long. **

**I love constructive criticism, and depend on it to improve my work. So, please, don't hesitate to speak youir mind. **

**Again - thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. **


	2. Somewhere in the Sands of Time

**A/N:** To _toobeauty_, _EsScaper_, _socalrose_, _Village-Mystic_ and _WickedWitchoftheSE_, thank you for taking the time to leave your reviews, and thank you to everyone who has favourited or alerted this story. I'm glad you all agree that this is something monumental that has not been properly explored in the show or in fanfiction; it reassures me I've done the right thing in turning it into a series.

This chapter is an edited version of the original one-shot of the same name.

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**Kryptonite**

_"I left my body lying somewhere in the sands of time"_

Ianto couldn't quite remember how he'd managed to prise Jack away from the floor, how he'd managed to calm him down, to reassure him, to explain to him as best he could without causing the heartache he feared. Jack had watched him stutter uncertainly, his eyes flickering between sincere trust and utter terror. It was as if he knew what had happened, knew about Gray and Tosh and Owen and everything that had happened, but his brain was refusing to confront and accept it.

All Ianto knew was that they had to get away from the Hub, and the weight of its grief.

When they arrived at Ianto's flat, Jack sank lifelessly onto the sofa whilst Ianto busied himself making a coffee. To be honest, he would have preferred a stiff alcoholic drink, but something told him that getting drunk tonight was not the right thing to do; not the right thing for him or for Jack. He cast a quick glance in the direction of the sofa, catching a glimpse of Jack perched uncomfortably on the battered furniture, his shoulder blades hunched to his chin and his fingers tangling in his hair.

Ianto was scared – he knew he was a master of disguising his emotions, but the tremor running through his body could only be described as pure and unadulterated terror. He could feel Jack slipping away, and he didn't know what to do; all he wanted to was to crawl into bed, away from Jack, away from the world, and pretend that nothing had ever gone wrong in his life. But there was something about the sight of Jack before him, crumpled and broken, that urged him to leave the coffee-making – which had, admittedly, been an excuse to brush away the problem – and sit beside him with some trepidation.

"Jack?" he raised his hand tentatively to rest on Jack's shoulder. His fingers trailed gently over the rumpled material of his shirt, smoothing out the creases in the vain hope that that would make a difference. Jack remained silent, his head buried in his hands, pulling so hard at his hair that Ianto could see the skin at the roots reddening. The younger man licked his lips, waiting quietly.

Finally, Jack raised his head to look at Ianto, his gaze ricocheting from his eyes to his cheekbones, unwilling or unable to meet his gaze. Ianto felt his stomach plummet at the coldness in those eyes, the weight of a thousand years tugging on the irises; it seemed as though his eyes were drowning in themselves, their famous glimmer sunk beneath the waves of pain.

"Jack…" he repeated, all too aware of the uselessness of his words. He had told himself that he could handle Jack; flirtatious Jack, bastard Jack, guilty Jack; he could deal with them all, knew how to deflect the personalities and meet them head on. But this was very different, in that it didn't seem like Jack he was dealing with. Sometime, during those millennia buried beneath the soil of Cardiff, Jack's – _Jackness_ – had escaped into the soil. He felt a sharp pain fight in the back of his throat, stirred by a slight, irrational anger:

_You went once, you will NOT go again. _

Suddenly, as if he had read the words pooling in his eyes, Ianto felt Jack's hand on the back of his neck, his mouth forced onto the cold lips of his lover with a relentless urgency. Ianto closed his eyes and let Jack kiss him, allowing him to reacquaint himself with whatever it was he needed to reacquaint himself with. It had, after all, been two thousand years since Jack had last kissed him, something that it had been easy to forget amidst the grief that had suddenly descended on their lives. Ianto was surprised Jack had even been able to remember his name, let alone having any memory of the sketchy details surrounding whatever kind of connection they had forged.

Jack's kiss was clumsy, unnatural, as if he couldn't quite remember what he should be doing. Ianto felt his shoulders tense, sensing his obvious frustration and trepidation. Fearful that Jack was slipping away, he moved his hand from Jack's arm to his face, cupping his cheek and brushing a thumb gently over the jaw. Jack pulled back, an expression on his face that was impossible to read; Ianto smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and leant forward to capture Jack's lips slowly in his own, hoping that Jack would trust him to take control.

Feeling little response, but also little resistance, he tentatively ran his tongue along Jack's bottom lip, questions and uncertainties thrumming in the slightly awkward movement. The bottom of his stomach lifted a little as he felt Jack's mouth open slightly, allowing his tongue to brush in and over his teeth, keeping the movement as gentle as possible until he felt Jack's own tongue responding to his guidance.

"Ianto…" Jack murmured softly against his lips, obviously testing the vowels, rolling them on his tongue like some sort of foreign language. Ianto was struck by the suddenness of this change in the man – when Jack had freed them from the cells, he had seemed no different to the Jack they had left behind. He realised that somewhere, in between Tosh's death and Ianto finding him sprawled on the floor, blood pooling from the gunshot wound in his forehead, something in Jack's mind had snapped. All those millennia alone, suffocating and reviving, the weight of six feet of earth pressing down on his lungs, had caught up with him once the immediate danger was over. The moment Jack the Hero had no longer been needed (the moment Gwen had left the Hub – she still viewed him as a heroic figure, after all), Jack the Human had taken over.

Jack the Human was broken.

"Ianto…" Jack tried again, his voice more forceful than it had been before, as if the name was the key to something fundamental in his brain. "I need…I don't remember…" He scrambled for words, obviously missing something. Ianto, knowing that he himself was not much of a talker, waited patiently, his hand still framing Jack's cheek comfortably.

"I want…I need…but I can't remember how…" Jack's voice was pitiful, vulnerable, barely more than a whisper and cracking with invisible tears. He flicked his eyes to meet Ianto's, his hand tentatively reaching up to the long fingers caressing his face and travelling along the length of his arm; the uncertainty was almost unbearable, as if Jack expected either himself or Ianto to shatter into a million pieces. The immortal man had never been one who was good at expressing himself with words, and Ianto had quickly learnt the art of deciphering Jack just through his touches. And he understood.

Gripping his wrist, he stood up and drew Jack with him. Jack complied, his limbs pliable, like jelly almost. The Welshman took a step backwards, and then another, keeping his eyes intently fixed on Jack's face.

"Tell me what you want Jack," he whispered, barely noticing as his back grazed the doorframe of his tiny bedroom. "I need you to tell me what you want me to do."

Jack's eyes flickered from Ianto's face to the bed, his eyes pleading with Ianto. He closed his eyes and breathed in, gripping Ianto's sleeve with a vice-like grip. Ianto held his breath along with Jack, hoping that he was doing the right thing – hoping that he hadn't misinterpreted what it was that Jack wanted, what Jack _needed._ In a selfish part of Ianto's brain, there was a slight flicker at the thought that Jack needed _him_…

Watching intently as Jack opened his eyes again, he began to unbutton Jack's shirt and ease it slowly from his body, letting his fingers caress as gently as he could over the newly exposed skin of his arms and shoulder blades. When Jack didn't protest, he hooked his fingers under his white – now greyish brown – undershirt and inched it up, just enough so that he could run his the pads of his fingers gently over Jack's stomach. The Captain's eyes slid closed again gently as Ianto hand wandered along the waistline of his trouser, carding through the smattering of hair that grew from his naval downwards.

Ianto took this as a good sign, ghosting his fingers over the button of his trousers, sliding it through to loosen the garment from Jack's body. He moved slightly closer, pressing his cheek against Jack's, feeling a slight swelling against his thigh as Jack's pulse grew more frenetic.

"I need to know if this is what you want, Jack".

Jack's eyes opened, his hand inching to Ianto's own waist, un-tucking Ianto's shirt from his suit trouser and mimicking the actions of the younger man.

"I need to _feel,_" he whispered firmly into Ianto's ear. "I need to _know_ you."

Keeping his hands as steady as he possibly could with the weight of responsibility he felt on his shoulders, Ianto stripped Jack of the rest of his clothes, letting Jack help him remove his own before leading Jack to the bed and encouraging him to lie on his side. Jack's body tensed slightly as Ianto slipped behind him, looping an arm around his waist and pulling his back flush against his chest. Jack's breathing was catching, the lack of familiarity and his inability to remember by turns frustrating and terrifying him. Ianto was used to being the one taught by Jack, the one with the least comparative experience, and now those roles were completely reversed – it was a heavy responsibility, almost like taking Jack's virginity, a thought that would have seemed absurd if the weight of it wasn't so real.

Leaning to the bedside cabinet, he scrabbled around for the tube of lubricant he and Jack had stashed away for the rare and often unplanned moments when they decided to ditch the Hub for the modesty of his flat. Finding it beneath his fingers, he warmed it in his palm, pressing his nose into Jack's hair briefly and breathing in his scent. The familiar Jack smell was still there, masked slightly by the layer of dirt, and Ianto took some comfort in the familiarity that ran through his body as Jack's pheromones seemed to set his senses on fire. But he ignored his body's natural reaction, stopping himself.

"Are you sure?"

"Will you just shut up and fuck me?"

Ianto felt a small smile quirk the side of his mouth at the glimpse of the Jack that he knew, the Jack whose seemingly-perpetual sexual frustration created an almost childish impatience when it came to the bedroom. Jack was still in there, and that thought spurred him on as he gently slid a slick finger into Jack's entrance. Jack tensed around the digit, a hiss escaping his mouth as he was breached for the first time in a hundred lifetimes. He was incredibly tight, and his discomfort was clear – he hadn't had human contact for nearly two thousand years, a thought that even Ianto, who had spent a lot of his life avoiding intimacy in all its forms, could not bare to think about more than absolutely necessary. Even with this knowledge, the frown that appeared on Jack's face almost encouraged Ianto to stop, to pull out, to just lie there and hold him as tightly as possible. It would have been simpler, but the older man reached around, gripping his wrist to keep his hand in place and grunting softly:

"Keep going…I need this".

Sliding in another finger, Ianto pressed a gentle kiss against the back of Jack's neck, inwardly apologising for the discomfort he was causing, silently promising that it would get better, that it wouldn't hurt, that he just had to wait, to relax, to let him in. Jack seemed to pick up on Ianto's subliminal message, both in its physical and emotional meanings, doing his best to relax his body, letting the muscles around Ianto's fingers go slack and dropping his head back onto Ianto's shoulder. Continuing to stretch Jack as gently as he possibly could, Ianto inched forward to ghost his lips over Jack's, letting him respond in his own time, on his own terms, smiling softly around Jack's lips as he felt an exploratory tongue force its way into his mouth.

For a moment after realising that he had prepared Jack as much as he needed to, Ianto hesitated, a thousand thoughts flitting through his already overloaded brain. The loss that they had suffered washed over him, the grief crashing in his brain; his worry for his surviving teammates; for Gwen and her destroyed belief in goodness; for Jack and his crumbling mind trapped in a indomitable body; and, alongside them, the comparatively trivial question of whether he should be considering using a condom. Just how did you judge that kind of the thing in the impossible situation he was presented with? No sex-education counsellor had ever offered advice on safe sex with an immortal man - Ianto supposed he would just have to work it out for himself, something he was well used to doing. Jack had been buried for over two thousand years, had died countless times, there was no _chance_ that there was any danger. And, anyway, he wanted Jack to really _feel_ him inside of him.

With this thought in mind, he quickly slicked himself up and positioned himself behind Jack, his hand steadying Jack's hips and tilting him gently to make it as comfortable angle as possible for his lover, who was now fisting the bedclothes with a trembling hand. Easing himself in, he kept his other hand entwined in Jack's hair, stroking gently through the locks in what he hoped was a reassuring, calming measure. Jack himself kept his eyes squeezed shut as Ianto pushed into him, his face tense and a bead of sweat forming on his brow as his younger lover breached his body.

The moment he was completely filling Jack, Ianto stilled in him, waiting for some sense that he should continue. Jack held his breath for what appeared to Ianto to be an eternity, clenching uncomfortably around Ianto's cock. All Ianto wanted to do at that moment was move, to feel Jack against him, to alleviate the building pressure in his groin; but he was stronger than that, he told himself, and he was in control now. He remembered how careful Jack had been with him on their first encounter, how aware he was of his injuries sustained in the countryside, and yet at the same time willing to fulfil that desperate need to be held and touched and fucked into the mattress. Now that the impossible situation had arisen, that Ianto found himself in Jack's shoes, he knew he was willing to wait for as long as it took.

Finally, Jack moved his hand to slide over the fingers at his waist, gripping tightly onto Ianto's wrist and pushing his hips back into Ianto's groin. Pressing his lips once more into the short hair behind Jack's ear, Ianto began to move his hips, sliding his cock in and out of Jack as gently as was humanly possible. Jack's fingers laced with Ianto's on his hip as his breath hitched, the frown on his forehead contracting and tightening as Ianto filled him, before changing from pain to surprise as Ianto finally hit the right spot.

Hearing the gasp of surprise escape from Jack's lips, Ianto buried his face into his lover's neck and began to pick up his pace, hooking an arm around Jack's waist to fist around his cock. His movements around Jack contrasted to his movements within Jack; he couldn't find the right rhythm, instead opting for a random mix of _thrust-stroke_ movement that nonetheless encouraged just the right noises from Jack's lips.

He knew that any psychologist would warn against this. The notion that sex could heal wasn't one that he had ever really bought into; it hadn't been the sex that healed him following Lisa's death, following the pain and the grief and then the abominably unsuccessful team-bonding session to the country. That physical connection had helped, he had no doubt, but Ianto had had one night stands and casual fucks before. He knew that they didn't alleviate the pain - they cured the present problem, allowed him to forget for that moment, but the effects were fleeting. No, he could conclusively say that sex didn't work as therapy. But sex with Jack was different. Jack was a being stuck in a time that didn't understand him, a man who tossed aside the restrictions of labels and categories in favour of unconditional connections. He was rooted in the sensual, and every single encounter, sexual or none, was deeply intimate. Ianto had needed to be touched, to connect, to feel some sort of intimacy, and that was what Jack had offered.

Ianto wanted to give Jack exactly what Jack had given him; to remind him that, although he was lonely and isolated and broken beyond belief, he wasn't completely alone.

Jack tensed against him, reaching back to dig his nails into Ianto's thigh, his harsh, raspy breath an obvious sign that he wasn't going to last much longer. With one last thrust of his cock into Ianto's hand, Jack found his release with a resigned sigh, succumbing completely to the sheer physicality chasing away the screaming in his brain. Feeling the muscles of Jack's body relax completely for the first time that evening, Ianto propped himself up slightly on his elbow, pulling Jack towards him to lift his hips ever so slightly, eager to join Jack as quickly as possible in his completion. With a few more frantic thrusts into Jack's pliant body, he felt the tightness coiling in his stomach build and release, muffling the low groan in Jack's hair as a he was hit by a crushing wave of _pleasure-pain-grief. _

The sound of their breathing gradually slowing was the only sound that filled the air as they came down, Ianto reluctantly pulling out of Jack and resting his cheek against his shoulder. An incredible stillness filled the air, a relaxed aura the emanated from both the men as they lay as still and as close as possible; there was no doubt that something had been gained, something had been learned, but they were at a loss to accurately describe what that something was. As it always had between them, Ianto noted, the silence spoke louder than any shallow words could possibly have done.

Finally Ianto managed to summon enough energy to work his limbs properly, rolling out from their tangled limbs and heading to the bathroom. Emerging with a towel, he quickly cleaned them both up before sliding back into the bed, rearranging their limbs so they were more comfortable. Jack lay still with his eyes closed, hardly responding to Ianto's touch as the younger man curled around him, waiting patiently, but worriedly, for some sort of response.

Eventually the young Welshman felt calloused fingers curl around the hand that was rested on Jack's stomach. It wasn't much in the way of movement or communication, but it reassured him that Jack wasn't completely gone, that they hadn't made the wrong decision in trying to reconnect in this way.

"Ianto," the word sounded more familiar now, rolling nicely off the tongue, the vowels lilted in just the way that made Ianto feel _known_. But Ianto couldn't help noticing that there was something, _somewhere_, that was still missing.

"I think I need your help."

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**Thanks ever so much for sticking with me! Once again, all mistakes are mine. I'll try to update as soon as possible, but if I take too long please poke me. And, in the meantime, go and see the new pictures from the filming of Casimir Effect - it's good to see Gareth working again!**


	3. My Friend At The End

_**A/N:** This chapter is slightly shorter than the last two, but I didn't want to stretch it for the sake of more words when I didn't think anything more needed saying.  
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_Thank you for your reviews, and I hope I keep meeting your expectations. _

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**Kryptonite**

_**"As long as you'll be my friend at the end" **_

The sound of a gentle knocking dragged Ianto reluctantly back into consciousness. He opened his eyes slowly, taking in his surroundings; he was curled around Jack, the older man's back pressed snugly against his chest as his arm wrapped protectively over his waist. He closed his eyes again, not wanting to untangle his limbs from those of the other man. Pressing his face into the back of Jack's neck he inhaled deeply, revelling in the serenity of Jack's muscles and the familiarity of the pungent futuristic scent.

Right here, right now, he could forget the events of the last few days, forget the things they had lost, forget the Jack he had to coax and comfort last night. The sight of his lover trembling, scared, and unable to remember was something that was burned indelibly onto his memory; perhaps if he closed his eyes and pressed himself as hard as he possibly could against Jack's slack body he could block it out for just a moment...

_Knock-Knock-Knock_.

With a groan, Ianto managed to disentangle himself from Jack's frame, rubbing his eyes as he turned to swing his legs out of bed. The older man stirred slightly as the cold air hit his now bare skin, and Ianto quickly covered him with the still-warm covers. He was going to make sure that Jack stayed unconscious and unaware for as long as possible. Jack seemed to be at least peaceful in his sleep, he noted, storing the information in the back of his brain in the special compartment he reserved for "Jack-Things". He had feared that the nights would be the worst, with whatever horrors Jack had experienced haunting him more fiercely in his imagination than they ever could in reality. Thankfully, however, Jack's sleep appeared miraculously dreamless.

Quickly grabbing some jeans and a loose fitting T-Shirt, completely throwing any pretence at professionalism and detachment out of the window, Ianto made his way to the door; he wanted to get it open before whoever it was woke Jack up with their knocking.

"Ianto?"

There were heavy bags under Gwen's eyes, her hair hanging limply around her face through lack of care; it was obvious she had had very little sleep, and yet she still found the energy to look shocked at his slightly ruffled appearance. Ianto bit back the upward curl of his lips. As well as they worked together within Torchwood, he and Gwen had never had any real interaction outside of the organisation. Sure, there had been team lunches and trips to the pub, but always after a hard days work, never actually separate from the work environment. As a result, there were very few times she had seen him without a suit, and even on those odd occasions he had managed to maintain the smart, secure look he was infamous for. There had been far less call to become so close with five of them, and she had a life of her own which the rest of the team had been eager to preserve, if only so that they could have the pleasure of sitting in the wings and staring enviously. His heart plummeted slightly at the thought - _only three of them now_.

"What did you expect, Gwen?" he allowed himself a small smile, running a hand tiredly through his hair, which he knew was standing up at odd angles. "It's 8 o'clock in the morning."

"I dunno," Gwen smiled back, stepping over the threshold as he moved back, signalling that she should come in. "Can't say I really thought about it." She turned to face him as he shut the door, her fingers absent-mindedly fingering a lock of hair by her ear. Biting her lip, she let her eyes meet Ianto's slowly.

"I think...it's just that...Rhys had to go to work and...I needed some company."

Ianto nodded, letting her get comfortable on the couch as he made his way to the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a fresh brew of coffee. It was slightly clichéed, the coffee-boy comforting the colleague with coffee, but at that point he didn't really know what else to give her; this, at least, was some semblance of the normal order of things. Upon his return, he saw Gwen glancing around his flat, her brow furrowed ever so slightly as she took in the scarcity of evidence that there was anyone living there. The normal mementos and ornaments of a normal home were missing, his non-essentials still packed away in removal boxes rather than cupboards. Even the air had a strangely clean feel to it, as if it had never been lived in. Growing slightly uncomfortable, he cleared his throat softly.

"Oh, God!" Gwen jumped, turning to face him, her frown turning into a sad smile as he handed her her coffee. "You didn't have to. We're not at work now, Ianto."

"I know," Ianto settled at the other end of the couch, resting his elbows on his knees messily. "But it makes me feel better."

As much as Ianto's mind was focused on Jack, he had to grudgingly admit that it felt good to talk to someone. Gwen was a lot more talkative than him; she always knew the right words to say, and it was a good distraction for him. If it wasn't for their slightly rumpled appearances, he could almost have tricked himself into thinking that this was just a normal day, just another conversation at work, over a humming coffee-machine and the gradual _tick-tick-tick_ of the Hub machinery. He cast the slightest of glances towards his bedroom door, barely moving his body as he did so; he could just about hear Jack's breathing, relieved that it was still steady.

"Ianto...this flat," Gwen's voice was soft, breaking him gently out of his Jack-induced reverie. "Do you need any help unpacking?"

"What?"

"It's just..." she paused, noting the slight awkward crease that had appeared on his forehead. "Well, it can't be nice, having the place so empty. Maybe you'd feel better if you made it _yours_...you deserve to have a life outside of Torchwood."

Ianto bit his lip ever so slightly, turning his face to examine his fingertips. This was a difficult subject for him. He had very little memory of what life had been like before Torchwood, very little perception of what could possibly exist outside its constraining barriers. Torchwood was interlinked and entwined completely and utterly with his life; it was a tie of blood, in his eyes. The minute Lisa had been converted he had become dependant on Torchwood, first to try and help her, and then as the instrument of his recovery. Torchwood had nearly taken his sanity away from him, but at the same time, it had helped him to rediscover himself. He didn't quite know how to answer Gwen, but, licking his dry lips, he tried his best:

"I... I suppose I've never really thought about it. It's never seemed important."

"Well," she inched closer, nudging his shoulder gently with her own. "Maybe you should try it sometime."

Ianto looked at her. Gwen looked tired, worn down, but there was a sparkle in her eyes that said "we can get through this". There was something so believing, so hopeful, even through the slightly puffy eyes and pale features, something that truly felt that this could be overcome. She was nothing if not determined, and there was nothing he could do but believe the message in her eyes and trust that what she was telling him was true. He remembered something that Jack had told him during his suspension, when he'd found him a pathetic, quivering mess of rage and tears, crying out ineffectually against the universe:

_"You can't be helped unless you help yourself."  
_  
Ianto smiled, what was possibly the first genuine smile that had graced his face since waking up in Jack's bed the morning before it all went to hell.

A smile which was promptly wiped off his face, as an unearthly crashing, shattering of glass was heard from within the bedroom, followed by a low groan. Ianto sprang to his feet, quickly followed by a panicked-looking Gwen, the pulse thrumming too loudly in his ears and making him feel dizzy as he launched himself into the room where he had left the sleeping man.

"_JACK!" _

_

* * *

_

_I was going to continue and include what they saw, but I decided I'd make you wait. The art of the cliffhanger has always eluded me, so I hope this has worked enough to have you hopping about with anticipation - or just grimacing a little, either will do. I also struggle with dialogue, so I hope I was able to capture the voices of the characters. If not, point me in the right direction and I'll try and get there eventually. _

_Thank you for taking your time to read!  
_


	4. Stumbling In And Bumping Heads

_A/N: Again, thank you to all my reviewers, and to all of you for reading my little festival of angst. As you may see, I am trying to write Gwen here as the character that I feel she had the potential to be, had certain writers not got their hands on her; I had very little connection with the canon-Gwen, but there were some moments when I truly liked her, and these are the traits I have focused on in my portrayal of her. A strong, compassionate woman knows when to leave well alone, and this is what the Gwen I am portray here. This is the Gwen I would have loved deeply, and I hope you feel the same way about her too; she's not a different character, just portrayed in a different way._

_

* * *

  
_

**Kryptonite**

"_**You stumbled in and bumped your head…"**_

"_JACK!"_

Before the horrified cry had even finished leaving Gwen's lips, Ianto was behind Jack, hooking his hands under the armpits of the older man to prevent him from falling. As he lowered him gently to the floor, he cast his eyes upwards, taking in the shattered remnants of his bedroom mirror, hanging limply from the dull frame and stained with a deep red colour that was only too familiar to all of them.

Jack's knuckles were a mess, the hanging skin drenched in blood as shards of glass seemed to embed themselves even deeper into the already shredded flesh. A deep cut was running along the length of his arm, the liquid oozing from it covering his flesh so completely that it seemed as though Jack was wearing a deep crimson coloured glove. Ianto felt his stomach do an uncomfortable flip as he gently reached down to Jack's arm to examine the damage, steadying Jack's back and head against his chest; this was more than just an artificial wound. Letting his head fall forward momentarily onto Jack's shoulder, partly through frustration and partly through exhaustion, Ianto could hear Jack's ragged breathing, the force of it causing his whole body to shudder.

Ianto heard a movement behind him, feeling Gwen's shoulder brush past his as she joined him in a crouching position beside their fallen Captain. The hitch in her breathing told him that she had assessed the severity of the wound, and a part of him wanted to push her away, to make her leave and then shut the door so that she couldn't possibly see their former-fearless-leader in the state he was in. Jack had waited for her to leave before breaking down, had kept his "Jack The Hero" persona until she was no longer present to be affected by the truth, and he had done that for a good reason. It all felt so – pointless - now that she was here, seeing it anyway.

A low moan, so feral and fraught it was barely human, brought Ianto's attention back to the man whose weight he was supporting. Shifting his body slightly so that he was able to lean his back against the edge of his bed, (he was too tired himself to be able hold Jack with just the strength of his spine) Ianto ran a gentle, yet quivering, hand across the chest of the older man. He could feel the heart thumping slowly beneath the skin, the beats seeming to get further apart with each breath as the blood slowly ebbed from his body.

"Jesus, Ianto…" there was a crack in Gwen's voice as she spoke. "Is this… is he…"

Upon hearing her voice, Jack's eyes opened and he managed to turn his head just a little, catching her eye.

"I'm sorry," he whispered gently, the breath scratching across his throat. "I didn't want you to see…"

"I know, love," Gwen forced a smile, her tears pooling in the corners of her mouth as the muscles of her face struggled to maintain the veneer. "Thank you." She reached out a hand, running soft fingertips down Jack's uninjured arm, swallowing hard to try and process the sight in front of her. Ianto turned his head away and rested his chin on Jack's sagging head, feeling his body becoming limp with blood loss.

Suddenly he felt a hand across his own, fingers entwining with his over Jack's heart. Shifting slightly, Ianto tilted his head to try and read Jack's expression; it was drawn and waif-like, but managed a broken smile. The younger man responded as best he could, catching tighter hold of Jack's hand and feeling that pulse recede to an almost imperceptibly slow rhythm.

Ianto and Gwen sat with Jack as his eyelids began to flutter, Ianto clutching him tightly to him and Gwen resting a hand gently on his arm. Both of them could feel the moment when Jack truly lost consciousness, could hear the breath scraping painfully across his throat and steadily quietening down. Neither of them spoke, or looked at one another, instead focusing on the fate of the man in front of them, the man they both felt connected to through ties of blood and love. Soon, the pulse thrumming in Jack's veins gave one last feeble attempt at life before settling.

They stayed with him for a while; Ianto rubbing small circles on the skin just above Jack's heart, and Gwen mimicking his hand movements on Jack's arm. It was always hard watching Jack die; even though they knew he was going to come back, each time a little bit of grief sank in their hearts. For the first time, Ianto realised, it felt as though he and Gwen fully understood one another, so alike in their grief, confusion and fear for the man they both loved that they didn't need any words between them.

Eventually, Ianto forced himself to unlace his fingers from Jack's, sliding his back further up the bed and bracing himself to support Jack's weight.

"Can you help me get him to the bathroom?" he asked gently, barely meeting Gwen's eyes for fear of what he would see in them. Gwen had miraculously managed to remain as the only member of the team who had retained at least some of her innocence, but he feared that this, coupled with the explosions and the deaths of the night before, would be the final straw that sucked her completely into Torchwood.

She nodded in reply, moving around to take hold of Jack's legs, waiting for Ianto to haul himself to his feet with Jack's limp body hanging on the strength of his arms. Without a word, they managed to carry Jack's dead weight into the bathroom, Ianto guiding them to prop him against the bath before leaning over to begin running the water. Leaning back, Gwen leant against the sink and wrapped her arms around her knees, allowing her face to crumble now that Jack couldn't see her.

"Jesus, Ianto…" she choked on her words, swallowing hard before carrying on. "What _happened_ to him?" Ianto turned to look at her, one hand remaining in contact with Jack's body protectively at all times.

"I don't know," he answered, the truth coming out before he could think of an explanation, something to bring about some semblance of control on his part. "After you left he…he shot himself, and when he woke up he was…broken."

Steam was rising from the bath, hanging in the air gently and creating an almost dream-like atmosphere around them as they both allowed Ianto's words to sink in. _Broken_. It was the only real word to explain it.

"What do you mean?" her voice was barely a whisper as she asked, the regret at having to put the question to him evident, but her determination to know winning out in the end. Ianto ran a hand through his hair, aware that Jack's blood, which was staining his fingers, was being smeared through his dark locks, but not able to summon up enough energy to care.

"When he woke up he didn't recognise me," he began, determined that the quicker he got it out, the quicker it would be out, and the quicker he could begin to work on some kind of solution. "But then he remembered…so I got him back here…and he was so broken, there was no light in his eyes…and he could remember me but not how to…"

He trailed off, swallowing heavily as he averted her gaze. This was a particular detail he was not willing to divulge further; what had happened between him and Jack last night had been more intimate than anything he could remember doing with Jack, and he knew that Jack would not want anyone to know how helpless and innocent he had been. He didn't want to bring Jack any further down than he had already come.

Gwen seemed to understand, nodding slowly and using the bowl of the sink to pull herself up, the exhaustion of the previous forty-eight hours catching up with her limbs.

"D'you have any cloths, or anything?"

Ianto nodded, indicating towards the kitchen. Gwen left the bathroom, promptly returning with a few tea-towels and helping him to apply the cloths to Jack's wounds. Ianto quickly took over, cleaning the worst of the blood from the now-healing gash on Jack's arm. Gwen paused, taking in the sight of Jack clutched in Ianto's grasp, the younger man cleaning the wounds on his arms tenderly; his eyes were so old, filled with more pain and dark wisdom than she could identify with. She could see the look that he was giving Jack, and she could see that this was something that he wanted, _needed,_ to do on his own, and she remembered something that Jack had told her a long time ago when she was still a new recruit to Torchwood; _Don't let it drift_. Realising that this was something Jack did not want her to be tainted by, something that Ianto needed to do on his own to take control of an anarchic situation and make it his own, Gwen leant forward to brush a quick kiss against his forehead, hooking a finger under his chin to make him look her in the eye.

"I meant what I said last night," she whispered gently, a stern look coming into her eyes. "You make sure you look after yourself too."

And with that, she was gone, leaving him to do whatever it was he needed to do.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, and keeping a watchful eye on the state of the bath, Ianto tightened his arms around Jack and buried his face in Jack's neck, his new-found isolation allowing him a second of wonderful weakness before he pulled himself together again. All he wanted to do was break down and cry, to scream and shout and rail angrily against the world and every damned person in it. But he _couldn't_. Not until Jack was better. He knew he had the strength to hold on – he had remained stoic and reserved, unbreakable almost, right up until the point of Lisa's discovery, knowing that he couldn't afford to be anything other than solid. Lisa had needed him. And now Jack needed him too.

With a jerk forward, Jack sprang back into life, his forehead bumping messily against Ianto's jaw and causing his head to jerk back against the bath. A shoot of pain went through Ianto's brain, and he bit his lip with the effort of fighting both the sensation and Jack's panicked thrashings.

"Jack!"

Ianto's voice was firmer than he'd intended it to be, his frustration and fear leaking through the sealed emotional compartment in his brain and into his speech patterns. Even so, it seemed to have the right effect on Jack, as the older man quietened almost immediately, his weight sagging against Ianto and his head resting gently on his shoulder. Taking a breath, forcing the newly replenished blood through his veins, Jack seemed to be willing his body to remain still, holding the panic within himself rather than letting it out.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered, his voice quiet with the effort of holding onto his lucidity.

"Don't," Ianto reached over, keeping Jack steady against him as he switched off the dripping taps. Running one hand through the water, the warmth of it sending a soothing wave rippling through his aching muscles, with the other he took a firm hold of the crook of Jack's elbow.

"D'you think you can stand?"

Jack nodded, the movement so small that Ianto barely registered it, allowing himself to be hauled to his feet and guided gently into the steaming bath. Shedding his clothes as quickly as possible, Ianto slipped in quickly behind him, drawing Jack back to lean against him. The older man seemed to relax slightly as the calm warmth of the water, coupled with the heartbeat he could hear beneath his head, swept slowly through his body, washing away the blood on his skin. Licking his lips tentatively, Jack opened his eyes and raised his chin slightly; Ianto took this to mean that he had something he wanted to say, but couldn't quite find the words.

"Jack…" he began, only to be cut off abruptly.

"I could see myself, Ianto," Jack's voice was hurried, catching against his throat as he tried to force the words out faster than they would come. "I hated it, I hated myself, I just wanted to make everything go away. I thought that if I…if I got rid of the reflection, what I could see, then everything would go back to normal." Jack swallowed hard.

"They're really gone, aren't they?"

Ianto bit his lip, pulling Jack tighter against him, not sure whether to comfort or be truthful. Closing his eyes, he nodded once, brushing his chin against Jack's hair. Tears gathered in the corners of Jack's eyes as his muscles began to tense against Ianto's body.

"I'm broken, Ianto" he whispered, the resignation in his voice sending a shiver of fear through Ianto's spine; the Jack Harkness he knew never gave up. "It's like I'm clinging on to the edge of my sanity and someone keeps stepping on my fingers. Holding on hurts so much, it just feels easier to fall."

The tears slipped from Jack's greyish-blue eyes, trailing down his face and mingling with the reddish colour of the bathwater. Ianto bit the inside of his cheek harder, tasting the copper tang of blood on his tongue, using the distraction to divert the building lump in his throat. Swallowing back the cry that longed to burst from his chest, he spun Jack around as gently as he possibly could, so that his face hovered in front of Ianto's, they're eyes virtually level. The older man's mind was fragile, ready to shatter at any moment, and it was difficult to combine the fragility of his mind with the hardness of his body. The way Ianto saw it, every single inch of Jack was as fragile as glass, no matter how strong he seemed physically.

"I'm not going to let you break," his hand came up to cup the back of Jack's neck, leaning forward so that their foreheads were touching. It was a strange experience; such intimacy with Jack and yet a distinct lack of sexuality. In any other situation, with their bodies bare, lips a hair's-breadth apart and hardly any skin on their bodies that wasn't touching the other man, the results would have been inevitable. But they both knew that the world had shifted dramatically in the past forty-eight hours; the definition of "normal" had changed.

Ianto took another deep breath, mustering as determined a smile as he possibly could.

"We're going to catch you Jack," he whispered firmly. "I promise."

* * *

_Once again, thank you for reading. I've been nice today and not left it on an evil cliffhanger; one must have a quota on these things._

_If you see any mistakes, or have any concrit, please let me know. _

_Edit: Someone left a comment about Gwen leaving Ianto to tidy up the glass, which wasn't particularly nice. I had thought about that, but felt that it was more important for Ianto to be left alone to deal with Jack in his own way, rather than to help tidying up, so that was her priority at that point. Maybe that's not nice, but I am trying to portray her as a flawed human as well. I also don't think that Ianto would have accepted any help - I think he feels he can do is clear up and tidy up, and that's what he does to keep control. Again, though, thank you for reading and for raising the question!  
_


	5. Call Me Strong, Call Me Weak

_A/N: Again, thank you to everyone who has been reading this story, especially to those have been kind enough to leave reviews. This chapter has taken a tiny bit longer, as it has gone through a major re-write process; I had some idea of a plot-point I wanted to employ, but I forced it in too early, resulting in me having to re-write this chapter. I've decided to let this story go where it wants to go, and allow the plot-points to slip in naturally rather than shoe-horning them in where they don't fit (unlike certain professional writers *coughbitterfangirlcough*)_

* * *

**Kryptonite**

_**"You called me strong, you called me weak."**_

The lights to Hub switched on one at a time, a ripple of brightness inching its way throughout the large empty space. The slight trickle of water that came from the tower in the middle sang in chorus with the gentle humming of the machinery that lay inside it, giving the impression that there was an internal rhythm within. Ianto had always felt that all the different components of the base played against each other, each one feeding the others and giving the place a synchronicity that was all its own.

Stepping away from the entrance and taking in the sight before him, he realised how surprised he was. He had expected there to be some sort of discernible difference between the Hub he had left behind him and the Hub he was presented with now. The world felt as if it had shifted on its axis, and the concept that anything could be left standing in the wake of such a change was unthinkable; it only seemed right that things would be toppled, destroyed, or at the very least a little bit dented. It didn't feel as though the world could possibly be unscathed.

But, of course, it was.

Ianto waited for Jack to follow him before moving further into the Hub, hoping that the vast cavern, familiar to Jack for over one hundred years, would spark some kind of memory within the older man. This had been his home, after all, a place that Ianto had come dangerously close to calling his own as well; in the weeks before Tosh and Owen's deaths, he had spent a good deal more time in this place, especially at night, than he had at his own flat. For Ianto, as for Jack, _this_ was home.

Turning around to catch Jack's eye cautiously, he tried for a reassuring smile; he promptly decided that it was too forced, to unreal, and that even broken Jack would be able to see through it. The eyes of Captain were squinted, taking in the sights before him, processing each and every thing he could see. Ianto could see him filing it away, storing it in his memory, using it to try and grasp helplessly at something, _somewhere_, that could unlock some hidden memory in his brain. Growing worried, Ianto shuffled forward slightly, moving himself as close to Jack as he dared without infringing on his personal space.

"Do you know where you are, Jack?"

Jack's gaze darted towards him, a fire raging behind those eyes. Ianto took a step backwards.

"Of course I do," he snarled, his fists clenching at his sides. "Why wouldn't I know?"

Pushing Ianto aside, so that the younger man collided painfully with the corner of a workstation, Jack strode forwards, heading for the familiarity of his office. Undecided as to whether or not he should follow him, Ianto gripped the edge of the desk, feeling a cold sweat break out on his forehead.

_Shit._

He followed Jack's retreating back closely with his gaze, willing the man to turn around, to look him in the eyes, to do something other than walk away; but he didn't. He entered his office, and shut the door firmly behind him. Just like normal. Except, this time, the door slammed shut with more force than Ianto had ever heard; Jack had been in rages before, but he had never put quite _so much hate_ into the action.

It was almost as if he were imagining the door to be made of something other than wood; as if he were imagining it to be a person. And, following that brief encounter, Ianto had a pretty good idea who that person might be.

Determined to hang onto his resolve, Ianto inched his way around the desk so that he could slide into Tosh's chair without putting too much weight on his legs. Jack was angry. Of course he was; his mind was a mess, his brain razed to the ground by a lifetime of burning death and isolation. And, worst of all, he _knew _what was happening. Jack was well aware that there was something wrong with him, and perhaps it would have been less painful had he been blissfully unaware.

Burying his head in his hands briefly, Ianto turned his attention to the computer in front of him, preparing to fire up the systems and do what needed to be do. There had to be a clear up. They would have to come up with a cover story for the explosions; they would have to come up with an alternative explanation for the deaths of their fallen colleagues. It was crude, and it was cold, and it was calculating, but it was an inescapable reality.

He let himself be absorbed in the work, filtering everything else from his brain but the task at hand. To him, it was the best form of therapy; focus on something else, something practical, something that required logic and diligence rather than coherent thought. He barely noticed when Gwen arrived at the time they'd arranged, seemingly unsurprised to find Ianto already there. He looked up long enough to flash her a quick smile, acknowledging the concern in her eyes, before turning back to the computer in front of him. He could feel Gwen hovering behind him, obviously disputing whether or not she should see Jack; he turned around in response, the swift movement catching in the corner of her eye and causing her eyes to switch abruptly to him.

"I wouldn't," he said quietly. She nodded again, laying a soft hand briefly on his shoulder as she made her way past him to her own workstation. In that moment, Ianto decided that, with the only the three of then left, he and Gwen would have to get to know each other more closely; he remembered how comforting her normalising presence in his flat had been the day before, how willing she had been to leave when he needed her to. She had changed so much in the past few months, from the wide-eyed girl who didn't know when to say "no", to a much wiser woman. A flawed woman, it had to be said, but a wiser one, and she had so much love to give. He admired her strength and her courage, and she seemed to trust him emphatically.

They worked in silence for a good while, both knowing instinctively that words would make it harder. Occasionally, Ianto would cast a quick glance in Jack's direction, taking in the sight of the tense man, hunched at his desk and reading assorted files. He lost count of the number of times he had to fight with himself, restraining himself from rushing to his side. He could see Gwen going through the same emotions, but he caught her eye, reassuring her that he didn't think that was a good idea. Not that he had any real idea what was best; he was trusting his gut, not that that didn't have a track record of failing.

Finally, they managed to complete a consistent cover story, blaming the explosions on terrorist attacks and providing fake death certificates for Tosh and Owen. Tosh had been killed by a gunshot wound, which they explained as taking place during the looting that had occurred in some areas of Cardiff following the initial panic. They did not omit the fact that she had saved Cardiff, instead relaying a story in which she was killed trying to prevent a violent robbery. Owen's had been easier, as his story had definite plausibility without having to expound the full truth. They were both depicted as heroes, and that was the only thing that mattered.

As they ran through the results of their hard work, Ianto noticed Gwen wiping away a tear from the corner of her eye, and he bit into his cheek. It didn't work - for the first time he was faced with the grim reality, and he couldn't hold back the few tears that managed to squeeze themselves out. He could feel them trickling down his cheeks, but he couldn't bear to wipe them away; he owed Tosh and Owen at least a few of his tears, as much as he owed them his strength in carrying on.

Suddenly, they heard a shuffling sound from the direction of Jack's office, and they turned abruptly. Jack was leaning on the door of his office, his shoulders slumped uncomfortably, a distraught expression on his face. Ianto stood up immediately, followed by Gwen, the tears now leaking more freely from her eyes. The young Welshman tried to rub the tears from his cheeks frantically, uncomfortable and guilty at showing Jack his weakness.

Jack looked completely lost. Confused, scared, terrified almost. His mouth was opening and closing frantically, as if he was scrabbling to gather enough oxygen into his lungs. The image was completely different to the angry, dissonant Jack of a few hours before. Ianto's hand strayed absent-mindedly to the bruise on his thigh, feeling the pain shooting through his nerves, reminding him of how dangerous Jack could be. Jack's sudden anger had been manifest only in a shove this time, but he'd seen what sane-Jack was capable of, and the way he'd slammed that door had slapped of pure hatred; he didn't know, if Jack's personality switched again, just how angry he could become.

Memories of Jack's gun pressed firmly into his temple swamped him, forcing more unwilling tears from his eyes; he could still feel the edges of the barrel digging into his skin, in the back of his thoughts, every time he closed his eyes. He feared that happening again.

But this Jack - this Jack was so lost, so...childlike, almost.

After Gwen had left his flat the day before, he had finished washing the blood from Jack's body, staying with him in the bath until the water temperature had left them shivering. He'd struggled to fill the rest of the day, uncertain what to do with Jack now that he was alone and vulnerable in his flat. Setting aside the situation he found himself in with Jack, it was so...couple-y. Eventually, he'd settled on forcing Jack to eat, ordering his favourite take-aways, softening him with his favourite coffee and switching the TV to the Classics channel, in the vain hope of reminding Jack of at least some part of his long life. Holding Jack in bed that night, feeling the older man fall asleep on his chest like a child clinging to him, Ianto had felt another part of his world shatter around him.

He'd lost one person he loved in a horrific way; if he lost another, he didn't know long he'd be able to hold on.

"Jack..." he stepped forward, reaching out his hand uncomfortably towards the older man, who looked so unbelievably lost and frightened. The need to touch, to reassure, had completely overtaken any uncertainty about what would actually be best for _Jack. _He needed to touch Jack - he was only human.

Jack flinched away as Ianto neared, curling his arms around himself protectively. The younger man felt a shiver of trepidation flow through him, and he jerked back hurriedly. Those blue orbs rose slightly, meeting Ianto's with a distrustful glare; they followed the curves of his body up and down a few times, processing every inch of Ianto in his brain, then repeating the action with Gwen. Finally, after what seemed as an eternity to both Gwen and Ianto, he raised his gaze, a glimmer of recognition shining in his eyes. Upon seeing the softening in Jack's features, they both moved forward, anticipating the stumbling motion that followed.

Ianto caught one of his arms, one hand resting on his chest to keep him upright, and Gwen gripped the crook of the other, catching Jack's hand between her own small fingers. Jack melted into their touch, letting himself flop forward ever so slightly to relax his entire body; had there been only one of them, it would have been nearly impossible to hold him up, but with the two of them it was something they could deal with. Maybe, Ianto thought, that was something he should take into account for the future.

Jack made a small noise, resting the side of his head against Ianto's shoulder so that he could look at him searchingly. Ianto smiled, not happily, but at least grateful that Jack had not managed to quite forget them.

"What is it, Jack?" he asked softly, his finger clutching softly at the material of Jack's shirt, if only to reassure himself that Jack was still there. Jack met his eye, with a look so trusting and hopeful that it almost broke Ianto's heart.

"Ianto...where's Gray?"

* * *

**Oh dear, another cliffhanger. I apologise profusely, and offer you cookies as consolation. **

**Thank you for reading, and please point out any discrepencies you find. **


	6. If I Go Crazy

_A/N: I haven't had time to check this for errors, as I wanted to get it up tonight, so don't be afraid to point out anything you see. I won't be able to post again until Monday, as I am actually going up to Cardiff tomorrow for the Casimir Effect Wrap Party (I know! *is excited*), so I wanted to get at least one more chapter up for you. I have an idea of where this is going, so the timeline should start to speed up a little after this chapter, but the first few days were something I felt needed to be quite indepth. Thank you for reading so far, and I hope this meets your expectations. _

* * *

**Kryptonite**

_**If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman?**_

Gwen stood by the railings that surrounded the viewing platform of the autopsy bay, surveying the scene in front of her. Her fingers gripped tightly, almost painfully, into the chilled metal as she watched Ianto pull the tray holding Gray's motionless form away from the wall, her heart beating so loudly against her chest that she was afraid it was reverberating around the silence and disturbing the two men.

The younger man took a step back, the thick material of his suit managing to hide the majority of the tremors running through his body. Gwen's breath hitched in time with his as Jack crouched down in front of the drawer, a confusing mix of pain, anger and fear running through his eyes. The Captain, as they had known him in the past, was an expert at hiding his emotions, and seeing such candid feeling shining through those blue eyes scared Gwen beyond reason.

She dreaded to think what it was like for Ianto.

There was an almighty sinking in her heart whenever she thought about her younger colleague. Looking back, she knew that he had experienced more pain, more suffering, than she could even comprehend, and despite his young eyes there was a tragic wisdom in everything he did. In some ways he was a young man, but in other ways he was so _old_. Gwen remembered young policeman she had worked with on the force, innocent lives that had been shattered by some of the things they had witnessed, seeing the growing realisation and loss of innocence in their eyes. One, she recalled, had attended a run-of-the-mill domestic on his first day, only to be present when the man involved had pulled a gun and shot his wife, his child and then himself. The change in him had chilled her to the bone.

He had the same look in his eyes that Ianto had everyday. She just hadn't been looking hard enough to see it before.

***

"Why is he here?"

Jack's voice was harsh, as if the syllables were tearing into his throat. His eyes flashed rapidly between recollection and denial, as if disjointed memories were playing across his mind and he was quite unable to piece them together to form a coherent picture. Ianto swallowed hard.

"Jack, Gray's not the same. He went mad, on the rampage. He killed Tosh and Owen, and he…" another hard swallow, his tongue flicking out to run nervously over his lips. "He's the reason you're like this."

Jack's hand ran tenderly over Gray's face, fingers lingering along the chiselled cheek bones that were so reminiscent of his own face. Before he could repress it, Ianto felt a swell of repulsion go through him; it didn't matter that this was Jack's brother, his flesh and blood, as Ianto could only see him as the murderer of the Tosh and Owen, the destroyer of Cardiff, and Jack's torturer. Jack was touching the man who had turned him into the shell of the person he had once been, and Ianto had to fight the sudden urge to grip Jack by the shoulders and haul him away from the unconscious man on the tray.

But all he could do was tense his muscles as tightly as possible, curling one hand around and the wrist of the other to lock his arms almost painfully behind his own back.

Eventually, Jack pulled away from Gray, his hand hanging limply by his side as he turned to look at Ianto. There were tears glistening on his cheeks.

"Why are you lying?" he choked, "My brother wouldn't do that."

"Jack…" Ianto felt helpless. "It's the truth."

"It can't be," Jack stood up, squaring his shoulders and drawing himself to his fully height. Even though they were the same height, Ianto felt himself shrivel pathetically under Jack's fiery gaze, a wave of terror running up his spine and sending his nerve endings on fire.

""Tell me what you did," Jack hissed, his hand flying up to grab Ianto by the collar. "What did you do? Why are you keeping him here?"

Ianto's arm shot up to grip Jack's wrist reflexively, his while body trembling as the fingers of the familiar stranger pulled the shirt uncomfortably tight around his neck. He could feel the uncomfortable tightening in his throat, his body reacting out of instinct to try and restore the oxygen supply to his brain.

"Jack…" he choked. "I can't let you let him go. He's done too much damage."

"You can't tell me what to do," Jack spat, a fierce anger punctuating every word like a knife. "I'm the one in charge. Who do you think you are? You're just the coffee-boy, the butler, so if I tell you to let my brother go…"

He was cut off abruptly by a hand on his shoulder, pulling him away from Ianto. His hand slipped away from the neck of the younger man, the release of pressure causing Ianto to stagger with relief and lean heavily against the cold tiles of the room. Jack was spun around to meet the furious face of Gwen Cooper.

"Don't you dare talk to him like that," she snapped, her grip on Jack's shoulder tightening. "You don't know what he's done for you these last few days. We know what happened to you is beyond words, beyond understanding, but he doesn't deserve this."

Gwen's voice dropped a little, her eyes softening as, the anger replaced by a cool sadness.

"Please Jack," she whispered, her hand moving from his shoulder to his cheek. "This isn't you."

Jack stared at her quietly, his eyes boring into hers, searching for some sense that he couldn't trust her. Water gathered in the corners of Gwen's own eyes, her lips pursing together into a thin line as she waited, trembling for some kind of response from Jack. Usually this kind of proximity with Jack would send a shiver down her spine, an indescribable fire coursing through her veins; it was hard not to get that reaction when anyone breathed the faint smell of Jack's advanced pheromones.

But this was a completely different situation. The only tremor running through her was a shiver of fear; sheer terror at not knowing what the future would hold.

Ianto trembled against the wall, curling his arms protectively around his body. He could see Jack staring down at Gwen, see the thoughts swimming around his the deep blue of his eyes, but he felt utterly helpless to do anything about it. He couldn't help but feel transported back to that time that seemed so long ago now, that terrible night when he had lost everything; the fury he had seen in Jack's eyes had been identical to what he just seen, his words so similar, cutting him down with every glance and every syllable.

Jack had threatened to kill him last time; who could say that he wasn't still capable of that?

Eventually Jack seemed to relax in Gwen's arms, allowing her to pull him into a tight hug. His arms came up to grip her shoulders, burying his face into her hair as she ran her fingers tenderly up and down his back, reassuring him as she would a frightened child. His body heaved as a strangled sob shook him, and she clenched her arms around him, encircling him protectively.

Her eyes met Ianto's over Jack's shuddering shoulder, and she attempted a weak smile, turning her head to whisper softly in Jack's ear. He could see Jack pull away slightly, his head inclining to one side so he could look in her eyes; she smiled a teary smile at him, nodding as she did so. Letting him go, she gave his hand one last gentle squeeze before stepping back and urging him to turn around with a nudge of her arm.

Ianto stayed where he was as Jack turned towards him, the solidity of the autopsy room wall reassuring him ever so slightly.

Jack took a step towards him, sadness shining in his eyes; there was trepidation there to. Ianto could understand that. The majority of Jack's memories of Gwen were of someone he trusted, someone he depended on, so it was only really expected that any memory he could latch onto would reassure him that Gwen was someone who he was safe with. His history with Ianto was a little more complicated. There was a good chance that he could fish out a memory that wasn't so pleasant, and Ianto felt a shudder go through him as he thought about what could happen if Jack happened upon one of those memories.

So yes, Ianto understood why there was a certain fear and mistrust in Jack's eyes when he approached him.

That didn't mean it hurt any less to see it.

Ianto moved forward slowly, meeting Jack in the middle. Hesitantly, he reached his hands out to slide them up the arms of the other man, feeling the muscles tense beneath the gently touch of his fingertips. Everything in his body told him to pull away at that, but something buried deep in his heart wouldn't let him.

Moving his fingers tenderly up to rest on Jack's shoulders, he pulled the older man towards him, only stopping when their foreheads were mere millimetres away from each other. He scrambled around his mind for something to say to Jack, something that would spark a good memory of him; something that would get him to trust him. Licking his lips, he furrowed his brow, feeling Jack become more and more tense as the moments ticked by.

Ticking.

_Tick. _

_Tick. _

_Tick. _

Ianto felt a smile forming on his face, a sigh of relief deflating him as he realised he had just the thing.

"Jack," he said slowly. This had to be just right; he had to get just the right memory or he was afraid he'd never regain Jack's trust. Jack caught his eye expectantly, seeming to wait for some sort of proof to fall from Ianto's lips. Ianto held his gaze for a split second before lowering his mouth so it was level with Jack's ear.

"How many things do you think you can do with a stopwatch?" he whispered, letting a hint of mischief taint his voice. "Sir?"

Jack raised his head to meet him. For a terrifying second, Ianto could see the confusion on his face. He barely had time to register the spark that suddenly appeared in Jack's eyes before the Captain's mouth was on his frantically; it was messy, but more controlled than it had been two nights before. He responded eagerly, luxuriating as Jack's hands came to cup the back of his head of his own accord, allowing himself to pull Jack even closer without fear of startling him.

Suddenly, Jack pulled back, a fierce concentration and determination in his eyes. His hands framed Ianto's face tightly, possessively, not allowing him to move more than a few centimetres away from his lips.

"Ianto," he said confidently, each syllable forced out with a stubbornness that told Ianto he was determined to commit it to memory for the final time. He smiled in response, his fingers playing idly with the short hairs on the nape of Jack's neck. Jack returned it, giving Ianto a flash of those white teeth he knew so well.

"_My_ Ianto."

Ianto's smile transformed into a wide grin as Jack's lips collided with his once more, before the older man wrapped his arms around his waist and buried his face in the Welshman's neck.

It wasn't much of a breakthrough, Ianto reckoned, in the grand scheme of things. Jack could forget him tomorrow as easily as he had today.

But, at that moment, all he could do was cling to Jack as tightly as he possibly could, allowing himself a moment when he could pretend for all of them that things were alright.

No, it wasn't much.

But it was the best he could do.

* * *

**Thank you for reading, and I look forward to any suggestions you have. **


	7. Nothing I Can Do

_A/N: Thank you for sticking with me, and also thank you for your suggestions. Some of them are duly noted, and have actually been squirrelled away into my kind-of plotline that I have in my head. This story has a direction now, and the timelines have begun to speed up (those first few days needed closer inspection, I thought, and therefore there was less plot more interaction). _

* * *

**Kryptonite**

_**I feel there is nothing I can do…**_

A shrill beeping sound punctured into Ianto's consciousness, pulling him unwillingly out of sleep. Groaning softly, he raised his head from his hands, feeling the shoot of pain that streamed down the back of his neck at the movement. He rubbed his eyes roughly, wincing slightly as every muscle in his body screamed in protest with each movement.

He'd fallen asleep at Tosh's desk, his head resting in the crook of his arm and his forehead softly brushing the keyboard in front of him. With just three of them now, their working hours had been extended to an almost inhuman measure; with Jack incapacitated (a phrase which Ianto had coined himself to normalise his condition), the workload he and Gwen had had to undertake was immense. The last time Ianto had slept in his own flat had been with Jack…

_Jack_.

Jack himself was lying on the sofa a few metres way from Ianto, curled up protectively in a foetal position. Ianto craned his head to look at him, taking in the soft movement of his chest and the slackness of his body. He let out a grateful sigh as he realised that the sleep was peaceful.

It was a gamble, Ianto had learned, whether or not Jack would find the peace in his dreams that he didn't seem to find in wakefulness. Over the course of the last week, his sleep had been sporadic, some nights being spent in deep unconsciousness and some being split apart by wild nightmares. One of the more difficult things was the fact that it had steadily become more and more dangerous for Ianto to be there when these nightmares occurred. Jack's inability to recognise anyone in his panic to escape the dreams, his inability to separate the monsters of his sleep from the people of his reality, meant that he was violent and confrontational when he awoke. Ianto, and Gwen, had had to constantly to push the fear aside whenever they came near him; the fear that, in his terror, he would lash out just the little bit too violently. But the need to comfort him was always guaranteed to override that fear.

Jack needed them. That was enough incentive.

Jack's state of sleep had been at its very worst when he had slept in his own bed. On the nights he slept under his own sheets, the nightmares gripped him with an iron fist, shaking him relentlessly until he was a quivering shell. Ianto had realised very quickly that the reason for this was the location itself; residing in the smothering, underground blackness of the room was akin to being buried alive, and since that realisation the sofa had been Jack's permanent sleeping quarters.

He hadn't forgotten Ianto again, thank God, at least not for any extended periods of time. He didn't really allow himself out of Jack's sight for long enough to let that happen, ever since the incident with Gray and the autopsy bay; even so, the fear was there, even if it was unfulfilled. Ianto realised he should consider himself lucky given the circumstances, but he couldn't muster much optimism. The day when he would rejoice that his lover could actually remember his face was the day when he would have given up all hope that Jack could ever be returned. He had hoped with all his heart that continued exposure to his former life, to Gwen, to himself, would have helped him to reassert that wonderful_ Jack_-ness that he had lost; but he seemed to remain stuck, not going forward, and not going backwards. The lack of progress was one of the more difficult things.

But it wasn't the worst part.

No, the worst part was the moments of lucidity; when Jack knew what was going on and understood that there was nothing he could do to stop it. Sometimes Ianto felt as though he and Gwen were parents to this new Jack, but it was in these moments that Ianto was forced into the role of comforter, psychiatrist and doctor, none of which he actually felt particularly proficient in. Sometimes all he could do was sit beside Jack and hold him, rubbing small circles into his back, hoping to chase away the fear of insanity that gripped his lover in an iron fist. He didn't say anything; he didn't know what the right thing was to say, so there was no real point in scrambling ineffectually for words.

Ianto yawned again, curling his fingers in his hair. He could feel it tangling beneath his fingers, slightly longer and not as clean-cut as he'd always made an effort at making it before. With the combined effort of looking after Torchwood and Jack, things like that had fallen by the wayside. His hair was untidy and wayward, and upon finding no clean suits in his wardrobe he had been forced to throw the remainder of his regular veneer by the wayside, instead substituting it for loose fitting jeans and a plain grey T-Shirt.

Ianto sighed, forcing himself to sit up straight in his chair. The world really was a very different place, he mused unhappily. And he didn't really have a choice but to go along with it. If he let himself be left behind, he knew he'd never catch up again.

The beeping sound echoed again, making him jump in his chair. He turned his head towards the sound, his exhausted state of mind causing him confusion as he searched desperately for the source of the noise; if it carried on much longer, was the only thought he could muster, it might wake Jack.

Finally locating the phone in his pocket (he made a mental note to kick himself later for not realising sooner) he pressed the "answer" button, allowing himself a brief moment of relief as Jack remained silent and unmoving, before putting the phone to his ear.

"Ianto Jones," he answered, trying to put as much strength into his voice as possible, despite the fact that it felt like a hive of bees had taken up residence in his skull.

"I was going to say I've been looking forward to hearing another Jones, but, honestly, you sound like shit."

"Martha?" Ianto felt a smile spread across his face at her voice. He'd not really spent much time with her when she'd been here, but she was a friendly voice and a breath of fresh air; as strong as his feelings were for Jack, and as close as he had grown to Gwen, they were the only real human interaction he'd had for far too long.

"I heard what happened," there was a sudden catch in Martha's voice, and Ianto felt the smile vanish as immediately as it had appeared. "It took UNIT a good while to get their arses in gear and tell me; they didn't really register the fact that I had connections to Torchwood; but it came up in a briefing. I rang as soon as I could."

"I…thank you," Ianto swallowed hard, not really sure how to react. He was certain Martha wouldn't expect him to break down; it hadn't been a long acquaintance, but she'd seen enough to know that open emotion was not something he did willingly. She wouldn't push him, he was certain of that.

"I'm so sorry, Ianto. How are the three of you holding?"

"Well…" he paused, deciding to be as honest as possible without divulging the whole truth. "It's tough. Gwen's finding it difficult, especially as she hardly sees Rhys anymore, and I've not left the Hub in days. I'm trying to catch up with Tosh's work, but she was a genius and I'm not, so I can't even begin to get my head aorund the basic systems we need to run the place. Plus we have no doctor, so now there's only three of us on mission and a heightened chance that irreparable damage will be done. Everything's just...really, _really _fucked up." There, he'd said it. Things had gone to the shit; he'd been denying it for far too long. They couldn't go on like this. He found himself rubbing his temples as he spoke, subconsciously trying to ease the misbehaving imps from out of his tired brain.

_Misbehaving imps? I need to get out more…or at all. _

"And Jack?" his heart sank again. "He didn't ring me to let me know…is he okay?"

Ianto swallowed hard, opening his mouth but finding his brain unwilling or unready to come out with a satisfactory lie. He paused for just long enough to cause Martha to worry.

"Ianto…he's okay, isn't he? Tell me he's okay," she stuttered slightly, panic rising in her voice as Ianto's silence grew deeper. "He's as tough as nails; he's survived so much…you can't tell me he's not okay."

Ianto couldn't stand the choke that he could hear as she tried to reassure herself.

"Martha, I…."

A sudden whimper, followed by a thud, interrupted him, and he turned around to face the noise.

Jack's face was contorted, twisted into a mask of fear. His hand was splayed flat on the wall behind the sofa as if he were trying to dig his nails into the tiles; he had obviously flung his arm out to protect himself against something, and Ianto could almost see the bruise forming along his wrist at the impact with the wall.

Forgetting that the phone was still in his hand, he rose quickly from his seat to Jack's side, crouching down tentatively next to him. The noise coming from Jack's lips was pitiful, like a wounded animal calling for help. The nightmares of the older man were completely different to his own; in real life, Jack was stereotypically the loud one, but in sleep it was Ianto who often woke screaming whilst Jack's anguish was quieter, more pitiful. It was heartbreaking to see such a confident, brash individual reduced to a whimpering mess, helpless and vulnerable. At least Ianto could take some comfort in the fact that no one outside of Torchwood knew – if anyone, UNIT for example, discovered the truth, then Torchwood could be compromised and, more importantly, Jack himself would be in more danger than he'd ever been in before.

In the past, however dangerous, Jack had been able to defend himself. Now, all he had was Ianto and Gwen, and they didn't know how long their own strength could last.

His hand stroked smoothly across Jack's forehead, pushing his tangled and unkempt hair behind his ear. The man was twitching uncomfortably, the muscles in his arm and hand tensing uncontrollably as he grappled with the wall, his panic obviously rising as he struggled to get some sort of grip.

"Please…" he whimpered, repeating the word like a mantra. "Please…pleasepleaseplease…"

Ianto carded his hand through Jack's hair, debating whether or not to wake him.

"Jack?" he whispered softly, moving his hand to rest gently on Jack's heart, subconsciously readying himself for any reaction from his volatile lover.

"Please…no…" Jack whimpered again, his hand sliding from the wall and forming into a fist by his head. Before Ianto could register the movement, the arm had been pulled back and forced towards him, catching him just at the bottom of his jaw and snapping his head backwards.

"Ianto? What's going on?" the young man could hear Martha's frantic voice, tinny over the phone as it spun away from him. Pain shooting through his jaw, he followed the phone with his eyes, reaching out with his spare hand to reach for it. Sudden frustration gripped him with an illogical force, and he just wanted to hear a voice _other_ than Jack's, no matter how panicked that voice may be.

He didn't have a chance to reach it, however, as Jack sprang from his position on the couch and gripped him by the neck.

"NO, I WON'T LET YOU!" he screamed, his eyes glazed as he pulled Ianto towards him.

"Jack, stop," Ianto choked, feeling the nails of Jack's hand digging into the sensitive skin of his neck. "I'm not who you think…listen to me…"

The Captain yanked the young Welshman closer towards him, some colour appearing to return in his eyes as he was able to study him more closely. Ianto struggled to remain as calm as possible, but it was difficult when his body was struggling automatically to gather some sort of air into his lungs.

"Jack…let go…please."

The pleading tone in Ianto's voice seemed to soften Jack, and he loosened his grip, realisation and recognition dawning. Before Ianto could catch his breath, however, he found himself pulled into a stifling hug, Jack burying his face into his hair as he clung to him. A sob escaped his lips, his whole body heaving as he gripped the younger man in his arms, as tightly as he possibly could without crushing him. Ianto went limp, letting himself be held, even if the grip was slightly painful; whatever Jack needed to do.

"I'm sorry," Jack choked, his voice still pitiful, but more _there_ than it had been in sleep. "I thought you were…I didn't know…"

His words were lost as the phone that had skidded away began to ring again, and he lifted his head to stare accusingly at it. Extracting himself from Jack's grip, Ianto allowed his fingers to run quickly through the hair of the older man, cupping his cheek for a split second to reassure him, before turning away to reach for the phone.

He didn't even have to look at the caller ID to know who it was. There was no one else it could possibly be.

"Ianto?" Martha's voice was slightly shaky, but firm, as she spoke before he could utter a word. "I'm coming to you."

* * *

_See? Plot. I told you.  
_

_Thank you for reading, review if you would like and don't be afraid to leave your suggestions. _


	8. All The Times I Never Let You Down

_A/N: I am terribly sorry for my long, unplanned hiatus. I am currently an A Level student, and for the past three weeks I have had a crisis of the English Coursework variety. In a few words, my coursework was due in last week, but my teacher was stuck in America, then ill, then he showed up, told me it was all wrong, then he took my notes to mark and then went home ill so I couldn't finish it before the deadline, then I got an extension, and then i had a major panic. I'm trying to get into Cardiff University to study English, and I need an A in English to get into to either Cardiff **or** my insurance; basically I need an A in English or **I don't get into University**. So this has had to go on the backburner for a few weeks. _

_You will be glad to know, however, that my coursework is now all handed in (wahey!) and, apart from revision, I should be free to continue writing this. Thank you ever so much for your patience, and I can only apologise profusely for my long absence. I hope this meets your expectations, and thank you for sticking with this._

* * *

**Kryptonite**

_**"You took for granted all the times I never let you down"**_

_Pain. That was all he could feel. Suffocating, crushing pain.._

_He tried to breathe, but he couldn't. He tried to struggle, but he couldn't. He tried to scream, but no sound would come out. _

_The chains clung to his wrists, holding him in place as he felt each ounce of whatever it was pushing down on him. He wanted to lie down, to ease it, but he couldn't. He could feel it pressing down relentlessly on his neck; it was too much. His body couldn't take the weight, his neck was going to snap, and then that would be it. _

_He could feel every muscle in his body screaming, his lungs throbbing as they gasped desperately for the oxygen they could not find. _

_There was something pushing down on him, but he couldn't see it. All he could do was feel. _

_And then the face, the face of hell. That glaring, leering face with a black suit, with deep and soulless eyes, with a chest that beat on two sides (how does it beat on two sides?) and a metal rod in his hand, pointing at him, the blue light boring into his eyes._

_Kill, kill, kill, die, die, die, this is fun, how long can you last, buzzing buzzing buzzing so much pain can't breathe ohgodpleasenoIwon'tletyou…_

Jack's eyes flew open and he let a gasp air slide into his lungs. He had to get away; the man was following him, he wanted something from him, something that he didn't want to give. The man wanted to kill him, wanted to hurt him and then kill him, wanted to take his life and toss it aside like a piece of rubbish

He didn't want to go, he didn't want to die. And then, when he went, he didn't want to come back. It all hurt so much; so confusing, so painful. He just wanted to close his eyes and pretend it wasn't happening.

He could hear voices. He recognised them; two of them had an accent that sounded familiar, one female and one male. The other one had an accent that was less pronounced, but the lilt of the feminine voice was familiar to him. He _knew _that voice. He remembered hearing it…he remembered what had happened when he heard it last…and they were coming towards him…

Jack let out a small whimper, unable to suppress the sound as he curled into a ball, biting onto his lip to suppress the sound. He buried his head in his hands, drawing his knees up to his chin and making himself as small as he possibly could.

_If I can't see you, you can't see me._

_

* * *

_

Martha Jones swept through the quiet space of the Hub like a wild hurricane, shaking up everything that appeared in her wake. At least, she did as soon as she managed to extricate herself from Gwen's fierce hug.

"Oh God, Martha, it's so good to see you," Ianto could hear Gwen's voice catching as she pulled back, keeping a strong hold on Martha's shoulders as if scared to break the contact. He could see her point. Their world had descended into insanity in these past few weeks, and Martha represented a chink of light breaking through the madness; maybe the lucidity would rub off if Gwen kept holding on.

"It's good to see you, too," Martha squeezed Gwen's shoulders, that innate wisdom she'd always mysteriously carried shining through as she flashed a sad smile at the Welshwoman. Her eyes then flicked confidently to Ianto, who was leant slightly uncomfortably against the metal railing of the Hub stairs.

"And you," she stepped towards him, holding out a hand and waiting for him to take it. The moment he did, slightly hesitantly, she used it as leverage to pull him forward, forcing him into a hug. He stiffened on impact, his brain telling him that he didn't want open displays of affection; he didn't want to be touched; he just wanted everyone to _leave him alone_.

Martha's grip tightened in response, the pressure somehow encouraging out the tension in Ianto's shoulders. His arms came up to rest lightly on the small of her back, submitting to the fact that, in his heart, this may perhaps be what he needed.

After a short time, Martha pulled away, relinquishing the brief contact they had shared. Ianto bit his lip, forcing a smile onto his face. The young woman shot him a dark look, shooting the smile off his face as quickly as it had appeared.

"I've spent too much time hiding," she said sternly, looking around to catch Gwen's eye, drawing her into the conversation. "I know when someone's bottling it up, pretending to be something they're not."

Her eyes returned to Ianto, the piercing depth of her gaze causing a guilty blush to creep onto his cheeks.

"If I'm going to help you I don't need any lies or falseness. I need you to be honest. Now," she clapped her hands together brusquely, the very picture of control. "Take me to see Jack."

* * *

The voices were coming closer, inching towards Jack. From his hiding place behind his hands, the immortal man could hear the voices quieten as they approached, the sultry tones hitching ever so slightly as they neared, getting closer…

And then the voices stopped talking.

A gentle pressure rested on his shoulder, and he flinched inwards on himself. Only, he realised, the touch wasn't threateing. It was soft, gentle; tiny fingers ghosting over his collarbone. He inched his arm away from his face, allowing a crack of light to filter through the gap.

"Jack."

The confidence, that tone, that gentle and reassuring timbre shot through him, forcing his synapses to connect together, to come to some sort of conclusion. He shot up from the couch, his head connecting with the tiled wall behind him; the pain didn't even register as he drew the young woman into a hug, burying his face in her hair.

He could feel the pulse in her neck against his cheek, the gentle thrumming reassuring and comforting to him. It was so _alive_. Sometimes he forgot what it was like to be alive; when you can't die, after all, the heartbeat is no longer a precious treasure, but a tired commodity. Jack had long since realised that he had to stretch his protection, his gratitude, his love, to the hearts of those around him, cherishing the beating in their chests as he had once cherished his own.

Jack looked up, for some reason sensing that there was more reassurance to be found from what he would see. He saw the other two – _Gwen and Ianto_ – hovering a few feet away from where he was trapped in Martha's embrace. They were stood close to one another, their elbows brushing against together in a subtle contact; he felt a warm swell bubble up in his heart at the sights and feelings surrounding him.

This was _his team_. His _family_. They were here, all of them, and they loved one another and everything was going to be alright…

Suddenly, he registered something was missing. An empty hole, a gaping wound. They were all here, but it didn't feel complete, as if there was something very, _very _absent and wrong_…_

A sob forced its way from his throat, realisation slamming into him with the force of a runaway train.

"Oh God, Martha," he pulled away, holding her at arm's length so that he could focus his gaze on the floor, unable to meet the eyes of the people surrounding him. "I lost them…I let them die…"

"It's OK, Jack," Martha's hands came up softly to cup his face, the tiny fingers barely brushing the edges of his hair. "We know it wasn't your fault. We're going to make things right again. End of the world survivor's club, remember? We're the survivors and we never give up on each other…d'you hear me?"

There was a caught edge to her voice, her lips thin and pale as she struggled to withhold the emotions that were obviously stirring within her. Jack caught her eye, his own gaze heavy with lethargy and exhaustion; his brain could hardly process all that had happened, all that was going on around him, and he could feel himself shutting down.

He nodded, the movement small, before he leant back onto the couch, his eyelids drooping with the weight of all he had seen in his long, long life. The hand moved to brush a solitary tear away from the corner of his eyes, resting lightly on his cheek before moving away and letting him curl up once again into that foetal position.

He barely noticed the warm wetness that dripped onto his cheekbone, as unconsciousness took him into oblivion.

* * *

Ianto braced his hands against the metal railings overlooking the Hub, drawing in a deep, shaky breath as he let all his weight sink onto his arms.

He could see Martha, still seated with Jack, his head rested on her lap as she curled her fingers softly through his lank hair. He expected to feel a surge of jealousy running through him at the contended look on his lover's face, the way he clung to her in his sleep, but none came. He was just too tired to feel anything.

A large part of him he refused to acknowledge was grateful that, for now, he didn't have to shoulder the burden of Jack. Someone else had a hold of him, was fretting, panicking, worrying over him; it felt good to have a little reprieve. A wave of guilt tore through him and he leant further forwards until his forehead brushed against the cold metal.

He was just so _tired._

A hand rested on his back and he jerked upwards, as much as his weary muscles could perform such an action. Licking his lips, he allowed his body to crease against the brace of his arms, his eyes fixed on the sight before him on the couch. The hand on his back moved gently over his spine, rubbing small circles into the ruffled cloth of his shirt.

"Ianto," Gwen was quiet, quieter than he had heard her be for a while. The fatigue was thick in her voice, a weariness that he was sure was something they held startlingly in common whenever they spoke; but the concern seemed to overshadow the tiredness for now. He glanced upwards, straightening his back being something that he just could nott muster the energy to do.

"We've got it covered, for now," her lips were forced into a thin smile, shaking with the effort of keeping composed. "Martha's got Jack and if…if anything comes through I can deal with it."

"No, Gwen…I..."

"You're killing yourself," there were tears in her eyes now, those brown orbs frantic as she searched his face. "What good is that going to do? We've lost Tosh and Owen, we're losing Jack…dammit Ianto, I can't lose you as well!"

"We're not losing him," Ianto forced through gritted teeth. "He's going to come back. He always has done before and he promised he'd never leave again."

He was being petulant and he knew it, but right now he really didn't care. All he wanted was for everything to stop, for everyone to shut up, for Gwen and Martha and Jack – _Oh God especially Jack_ – to just _fuck off_ and leave him alone.

He swallowed hard as that thought span through his mind, feeling water gather in the corners of his eyes as he tried drastically to hold it back.

_Don't you dare fucking break now._

But Gwen saw. Of course she did. Gwen always saw – and he wasn't sure whether he hated her or loved her for that.

"No, Ianto," her voice was firm now, juxtaposed to the tears lingering on the ridge of her cheekbone. "You're no use to anyone when you're dead on your feet. Rhys can spare me for an evening, he'll understand. You have to stop this…this…taking everything on yourself because you think you're the only one who should do it. Even though we're not all here…we're still a team, do you hear me? We're still a team, and teams look out for one another."

Ianto let himself be drawn into a hug as she spoke, a choke gathering at the edge of some of her words as she tightened her grip around his sagging shoulders. His arms came up around her, clinging to her more tightly than he ever expected himself to do, holding her as close to him as he possibly could. He just needed…he didn't know what he needed. He didn't know what any of them needed anymore, and that scared him; that was his _job_ and he couldn't even do that in this madness.

Finally, Gwen pulled back, every bit the concerned mother-figure as she took his face in her hands, using her thumb to brush at the corner of his eye gently. He couldn't help but smile sadly at that – it felt good to be taken care of.

"When this is all done...when everything's fixed," the quiet optimism in her voice sent a spark of hope through him, however futile. "I'll come 'round, and we'll start unpacking those boxes, yeah? Give you a _home_, you silly bugger."

Ianto smiled again, drawing her into another hug; quicker than last time, brief and sweet, breaking away before anymore words could be exchanged; but that was all it took. Gwen brushed a brief kiss against his cheek – she did that the night this all started, he remembered grimly – and turned to leave, making her way down the clattering stairs onto the main Hub complex, ready to continue her work.

Taking one last look at his sleeping lover and the young woman now caring for him, he took a deep breath before following Gwen's path down the stairs, grabbing his coat before heading to the cog-wheel door. He could feel both Martha and Gwen's eyes on him as he left, but he barely registered it as he made his way towards the outside world.

For the first time in a while, he knew _exactly_ what he needed to do.

* * *

_Again, thank you for still reading. All mistakes are mine; this chapter has not been so thoroughyl edited as I wanted to get it out as soon as possible, so if you notice anything please let me know and I will correct it. Thank you, again!_


	9. If Not For Me

_Thank you, once again, to all my reviewers and readers for your understanding and acceptance of my absence. This is what I am calling a "big" chapter: it's very important and took a while to write. The relationship between Ianto and Rhiannon, which is focused on heavily in this chapter, is very much based on my own relationship with my little brother; I adore their relationship and interaction, and I adore her character. The sibling bond is very special, and I hope I do that justice here. _

* * *

**Kryptonite**

"_**If not for me then you'd be dead"**_

The sound of the birds, chirping merrily, seemed oddly out of place in a world that had, for Ianto at least, turned upside down.

The noise irritated him, piercing through his brain like a spark of electricity. He could feel his hands tighten on the steering wheel of his stationary car, fingers gripping the cold leather until the blood vessels stood out starkly against his skin. It had been a while since he had left the Hub and the light of the sun seared into his eyes, forcing him to scrunch his face unattractively.

But, coupled with the bags under his eyes, the pallid complexion of his face and his less-than-flattering baggy shirt and jeans, attractiveness really wasn't something that was bothering him at the moment.

He was stalling, he knew that; complaining about the noises of the outside world, shielding his eyes from the light, contemplating on his attire and his appearance rather than doing what it was he needed to do. He cast a quick glance out of the partially opened window of the car, in the direction of the door he knew he'd have to knock on sooner or later.

A part of him didn't want to. But a larger part of him needed to be looked after, to be understood, to be cuffed around the ear and told what a stupid bastard he was really being. A small smile crept on his face as he thought of the reaction that would welcome him, the arms that would smother him, that berating tone that would fill his ears and give him some sense of sanity and grounding in a maddening world.

With that in mind he managed to drag his body, now aching with tiredness, out of the vehicle, locking the door behind him as he turned and made his tentative way towards that door.

* * *

Gwen slumped back in her chair, her brain short-circuiting as the last vestiges of strength left her body. It was no use – there was no way she was capable of deciphering the intricacies of Tosh's computer system, even with the help of those little pop ups. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry each time that little information bubble appeared cheekily on the screen, Tosh's exasperated tone shining through in the words she had written. That was Tosh, beautiful, genius Tosh: always prepared, always ready for any situation, even her own death.

Her fingers slammed onto the keyboard, her efforts seemingly futile as the screen once again flashed at her, the almost mocking tone in the incessant _bleep_ing causing her to bristle angrily. Of all the things to go wrong recently, this was probably the easiest challenge she had faced; and, yet, she couldn't even seem to overcome this.

Something cracked within her and she blinked, forcing a disheartened sob back into her throat.

_Oh for God's sake, you stupid fucking thing, just work! Can't something go right, for once? Please? Please? _

"Gwen, can I borrow you for a second?"

Gwen jumped suddenly, a slight brush creeping onto her cheeks as she realised someone else may have witnessed her intellectual pissing match with the computer. Thankfully, though, the owner of the voice was out of her range of sight; she let out a sigh of relief, allowing herself the luxury of one more _slamming_ of fingers against the mutinous keyboard before she left the infernal thing to its business.

Leaving her seat, grateful for the chance to forget her own technological failings, and longing for some fellow female company, Gwen turned towards Jack's office; Martha had taken temporary residence there in order to try and sort out some of the insanity that had fallen upon them. Before she passed through the doorframe, however, she cast a quick glance towards the couch. Jack was sleeping, again, although slightly less peacefully than he had been a few hours ago under Martha's delicate touch.

Sighing deeply, she turned away and made her way through the door into Jack's office.

* * *

"What can I get you…tea?"

Ianto shifted on the lumpy sofa, his shoulders stiff and uncomfortable as he watched his sister bustling about in the kitchen. The living room was small, oppressive almost, tinged with the unfamiliar smell of normal life; the lingering odour of cooked food, the scent of talcum power, creams and general bodily fluids that hinted at the presence of children.

"You listening?"

Ianto blinked, trying to focus his eyes.

"Sorry?"

"I said: what can I get you? You want tea?"

"Oh…er…" Ianto wrinkled his nose slightly, trying not to make his distaste too obvious. "Do you have any coffee?"

Rhiannon sighed, her hands on her hips as she turned back to the kitchen counter, opening various drawers with the expertise of a dancer. Her hand fumbled around in the depths of one of the top cupboards, finally catching a hold of its prize and bringing it down from its perch triumphantly.

"Only got decaf, Johnny goes mad if he gets caffeine in his system…that okay with you?"

Ianto nodded, his posture still betraying his discomfort as his older sibling made the coffee; swiftly and roughly as opposed to the painstaking attention to detail he himself employed. He struggled not to wince as he heard the clattering of the kettle and the _clanging _of spoons against china mugs. Rhiannon still managed to see through the veneer, however, as she placed the warm drink in his hands, her eyes narrowing indignantly at the sign of displeasure in his eyes. Her hand cuffed lightly against his ear, the action almost comforting in its familiarity.

"Now, don't give me that. This is _my _house, not your fancy pants civil service do, so you'll get what you're given," she stepped back, a small smile forming as she sank into the chair opposite him. "I know the only reason you even started drinking that bloody sludge was because no one else liked it – that was you, always having to be different. Even if you never even liked it to start with."

Ianto shot her an indignant look at the accusation.

"What? You didn't! In fact, the more Dad tried to tell you otherwise, the more you convinced yourself that you did like it – so bloody eager to go against everything he had to say that you actually managed to change your own taste buds! I can just see the look on his face when you told him you got that Saturday job in the coffee shop…"

"Rhi…" Ianto cut her off, his tone sharp, the timbre of his voice wavering slightly. It wasn't much, but it was enough to catch her attention. She closed her mouth, leaning forward ever so slightly, her teasing immediately transformed into that motherly demeanour that he loved so well.

"I didn't come here to talk about him…please don't talk about him…"

Rhiannon hooked her hands beneath her seat, moving it forward so that she could rest a hand on Ianto's thigh as he seemed to curl in on himself, her fingers rubbing small circles gently into the flesh of his leg. He stared at her hand, seemingly transfixed by it as he avoided meeting her gaze; she waited, keeping up the small movement of her fingers against his skin.

It felt nice.

He raised his eyes, meeting her concerned stare tentatively.

"I think I'm in trouble, Rhi…"

* * *

Martha studied Gwen closely as she sat down, eyes roving almost intrudingly over her face. The Welshwoman squirmed under her gaze, uncomfortable in the feeling that she was somehow under intense scrutiny. She had always worn her heart on her sleeve, knowing that she was more easily readable than either of the two men she now worked with, but she'd never felt so thoroughly _exposed _ before.

"What's wrong with Jack?" she whispered, gripping the arms of the chair as she focused her gaze onto the scratched concrete of the floor. That was all she wanted to know at the minute; what was wrong and how to fix it. She wanted Jack back and she wanted Ianto back. They had lost Tosh and Owen, but she had not lost the other two completely, and she'd be damned if she'd let them go as well.

Being too stubborn was one of her major flaws, as she had discovered working for Torchwood. But, at times like these, it could also be a major asset.

"Honestly, Gwen," Martha paused, closing her eyes and exhaling heavily through her nose. "I don't know. It's like…he's lived so long and seen so many things that his brain just can't handle it anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"It's hard to put it in medical terms, because it's _not_ medical – not bloody medical at all. But think of his brain as a box, storing everything he sees and thinks and knows…and if you fill a cardboard box too full it can't take the pressure. It's going to lose its structural integrity."

Gwen nodded, biting her lip slightly.

"But he's lived for so long. Why now?"

Martha tapped her nails against her top lip, thoughtfully. There was more brightness in her eyes than Gwen had seen in anyone in a long time, ever since that fateful day when everything went to hell. She was like a breath of fresh air, relatively untainted by the horrors that Gwen and her friends had been subjected to over the past few weeks; the madness had not touched her, and she was exactly the hold they needed to keep a grip on their own sanity.

"Well…and this is only speculation, so don't take it as fact…if you fill a cardboard box it will weaken, but it's likely to hold out for as long as possible, as long as you're careful with how you arrange what you're putting in it. Jack's brain has adapted somehow to withstand his long life and to organise everything so that it doesn't tip over – it's amazing how the human body can change and mould itself in order to survive, trust me," her eyes darkened for a second, lost in a memory Gwen just couldn't fathom.

"But, essentially, he's still human; he can only stretch so far. All it needed was a strong enough trigger…"

"Oh God," Gwen felt a lump rising in her throat. "2,000 years…all alone, suffocating, crushed…Oh Jesus Jack…"

She turned in her seat, seeking out the sleeping man with her eyes.

"What have they done to you?"

* * *

Ianto didn't realise he was sobbing until Rhiannon's arms had closed around him in a smothering embrace, pulling him tightly into her bosom as his body was wracked with the force of his tears. He could feel himself shaking, clinging onto the cloth of her top, burying his face in her chest as if he were a frightened toddler again, using her as a shield against the rest of the world.

Her hand carded through his hair gently, her touch reassuring and comforting; he let himself mould to her shape, breathing her familiar scent as he let the weight of everything that happened pour out of him in the form of liquid tears. Rhiannon was like a sponge, she always had been, soaking up every tear, every sob, every childish whine and gripe. As much as he had neglected her, kept her at arm's length – to _protect her_, he kept telling himself, although he was no longer sure that was the truth – it was at times like these that he was so _grateful_ to have her.

She was his big sister; she'd always been the strong one, the brash one, the one who would stand up for herself and would defend her little brother, however annoying and tiresome she found him, to the death. He couldn't imagine a world in which she wasn't there to catch him.

"There now," Rhiannon berated softly once the violence of his tears had subsided, pulling back and rubbing against the wet trails on his cheeks with her thumb. "What was all that about then, eh?"

"It's..." he chewed on his bottom lip, painfully aware of silent tears still squeezing their way rebelliously out of his eyes. "...my friends."

Rhiannon nodded, letting him take a few shaky breaths before continuing.

"When the...uh...the terrorist attacks in Cardiff...the ones a few weeks ago. Well, they were there and they...both of them, Tosh and Owen...they were only trying to the right thing, to keep us all safe and yet..."

He felt his sister's hand move from his shoulder until it reached his own which was rested on his knee, her small fingers worming their way into his clenched fist to hold his hand lightly. He could feel the words bubbling in the back of his throat, her gentle contact urging him on as he swallowed hard, trying to take the words and string them together coherently.

"We weren't quick enough, perhaps we could have done something, it's just so..."

"Unfair?" Rhiannon's voice was soft as she spoke, and he met her gaze slowly. "But you're a stubborn bastard, Yan...if there was anything you could have done I know you'd have done it. That they didn't...survive...just shows that there was nothing you could have done to stop it."

Her hand squeezed his own, encouraging him to continue.

"It's not just that, Rhi," he was frantic now, his fingers responding to her touch, clutching dangerously tightly at her hand. "It's my...my boss."

He could see Rhiannon trying to smother her frown, but she wasn't quick enough.

"He was...Oh God...it was his brother who did it, his brother who set the explosions, Rhi, and Jack was...he tortured Jack. Made him suffer for something he did wrong when they were just kids."

He was babbling, he knew it, but it was like someone had punctured a dam inside him; that little trickle had exploded, words gushing out of him like a raging flood. He could feel Rhiannon's thumb stroking softly at the ridges of his knuckles as his hand began to quiver ever so slightly.

"I don't know what to do, Rhi. He got away and he found us, but then Tosh and Owen were dead and...and it was his brother who did it...and he just broke. It's like he's not all there, like there's something wrong, and he's so scared all the time, scared of everyone, scared of me...he doesn't even remember who I am some of the time..."

Those last words caught in his throat and he lowered his head, desperately trying, and failing, to swallow back the painful lump in his throat. He kept his head lowered as Rhiannon inched closer to him on the sofa – when had she moved from her chair? – and put one hand on each shoulder, gripping hard.

"Sounds like this – Jack – means a lot to you, Yan. And if there's one thing I know, it's that he's lucky to have you on his side to help him through…and that you'll get through this too. We always do…you and me, we always got through, remember? Never let go, never give up. Just keep on fighting."

* * *

Gwen was crying.

Not loudly or violently, but there were definitely tears sliding down her cheeks. She could feel them following the trail of her face, nestling in the corners of her mouth as once again the unimaginable thought of what Jack had endured slammed into her. She didn't even have the energy to wipe them away.

Martha was still talking, her voice filtering through as if she were hearing her over the comms system, rather than sitting directly opposite her.

"I don't think it was just the...burying, Gwen."

The Welshwoman turned to face Martha, loathe to break her eye contact with Jack's sleeping form but realising that there were more important things to attend to than her own grief. On a basic, selfish level, the only way to make _herself_ feel better was to get this fixed, she realised guiltily, and so listening to Martha was the best way of breaking her cycle of misery.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…I think that was a factor, but I know Jack. It's likely his body would have shut off to protect him, made sure there were long spaces of time between his revivals. He can handle physical pain. Trust me on that one."

Gwen scrunched her eyes up thoughtfully, feeling the skin at the corners wrinkle slightly.

"That's what Ianto said; that it was only after I left that it happened. Jack shot himself, and when he came back it was like a part of him hadn't got back with him."

Martha nodded, as if this proved her theory, waving a hand at Gwen to carry on as she made hurried notes on a mislaid piece of paper; they were unfinished archival documents, Gwen noted. Even through the haze of confusion, that achingly normal thought: _Ianto will not be happy…_: managed to slide into her brain.

"And Jack said…he said _I didn't want you to see _when I saw him at Ianto's.I went 'round Ianto's, the morning after we lost…the morning after it happened – just needed some company. Jack was there…"

"Jack was there, in the morning? Did they do anything?" Martha's nostril's flared suddenly, her eyes sharp; Gwen shrank in her seat under the glare, the protective nature of the younger woman quite terrifying in its force.

"I – I don't know. He said that he got Jack back to his flat and that he couldn't remember how to…oh," Gwen flushed. "He was naked in the morning."

"Oh _shit_," Martha stopped writing, her head falling into her hands. "When Ianto gets back, we are having _words_."

With that she stood up, sighing deeply and smoothing her hair back into its neat bun. As she left the room, Gwen couldn't help the niggling – well, more than niggling – sense that she may have got the Welshman in a lot more trouble than he was already in.

* * *

"How long have you kept this inside?"

Ianto hung his head sheepishly as he stood in the hallway, slipping his heavy dark coat onto his shoulders.

"You don't understand. At work, they rely on me to be the strong one, to keep it together and…" he let a small smile stretch his face. "…I never could hide anything from you."

"Yeah, well, that's my job you, silly bugger," Rhiannon huffed, her hands on her hips. "Look, the kids are coming back from school in an hour, and it's been such a long time…"

"To be honest, at the minute, I can't trust myself not to throttle one of them," Ianto smiled, leaning more comfortably against the wall at the look on his sister's face.

"How do you think I cope then, you smug bastard!" she smiled, a slight sadness tingeing what should have been a happy expression. "Seriously though…promise me you'll come for dinner some time. I'll make sure Johnny doesn't try and wrestle you again…"

Ianto felt a genuine laugh bubbling up from his chest, and he stepped forward to pull his sister into a hug. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling her own hooking around underneath his armpits to grip his back tightly; burying his face in her hair, he once again breathed in that refreshing smell of _normalcy_, committing it to memory.

Eventually, and somewhat reluctantly, his older sister pulled away. Before he could turn to the door, however, she framed his face with her hands and pressed her lips against his cheek.

"You make sure you don't let it get bottled up like this again, you hear me?" her hand pulled back and cuffed his cheek lightly. "And when this – boss – of yours pulls himself together, you give me a call and get him 'round here."

"Rhi…"

"And cut your hair. I know you're such a stickler for that kind of thing, you'll feel a lot better, trust me. Oh, and for God's sake, get some sleep!"

"Yes, Ma,"

"Cheeky sod," she cuffed him again, stepping back and allowing him to pull the door open, a serious expression descending onto her features. "You just take care of yourself, Yan."

Before stepping over the threshold, he grabbed her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, feeling the pulse in her wrist thrumming through into his fingers. That sense that she was _here_, whatever happened, was enough to expel the fear that he was stepping back into his harsh reality; she had let him escape, if only for a few precious moments, and he couldn't express how much that meant.

So, instead, he looked her in the eye and smiled, the sense of release allowing him to genuinely feel the warmth of the expression, for the first time since this had all happened.

"Thank you, Rhi."

* * *

_Thank you for reading. Please review, if you can, as all comments are appreciated. _


	10. If I'm Alive And Well

_A/N: Thank you once againt to my reviewers, and all those who read my fictions. I hope I live up to your expectations. This fiction seems to have begun to spiral completely away from what I originally intended, and will probably end up a lot longer than I intended. I have a basic plan, as I must do, and a resolution, but I'm allowing myself to go where the muse takes me. These last few chapters have placed a major focus on Ianto, Gwen and Martha, but I promise that there will soon to start to be a lot more Jack - I feel it has been more effective, up until now, to give the outside perspective, the views of his carers rather than the experience of Jack himself. _

* * *

**Kryptonite**

"_**If I'm alive and well…"**_

_Jack's lips aren't smooth. They never have been. They are chapped, rough, scratching almost against the skin of Ianto's mouth, dragging hotly, wetly over his tingling flesh. _

_His spine rises up from the coarse sheets, bucking involuntarily under Jack's ministrations. Heavy hands plant on his stomach, holding him in place as those lips scratch against the nerves of his thigh, dark locks brushing against his groin with each movement. He can feel his cock straining against the constraints of his own skin as those teeth latch onto his inner thigh, the blood rushing to the surface of his skin beneath the ferocity of the attack. _

_His hands tangle in the Jack's hair, pushing his head down, the tight grip of his fingers conveying his sense of _more-now-please.

_Jack doesn't concede. Instead he raises his head, lips ever so slightly swollen, his eyes catching onto Ianto's, pupils swimming with such a myriad of emotion, of wickedness and lust and affection…_

The screeching of his alarm punctured the fog of Ianto's mind, dragging his eyes open as he bolted upwards, his body like a released spring. There was sweat beading on his forehead; he could feel it trickling down onto his cheek, catching on the corner of his mouth, the salty taste lingering on his taste buds as he failed to resist the temptation of licking it away.

His hand came up to massage his temple, the pads of his fingers slick with the moisture of his skin. His breath was catching in his throat, scratching awkwardly the way it always did when he had been breathing far too hard for far too long. Flopping back against the headboard he kicked the duvet away from him, shivering as the cold air hit his overheated skin.

It wasn't so much the dream he had had, although that in itself had been enough to set his nerves jangling in a way they had not done for a long time. It had been so vivid; he could almost taste Jack's scent in the air, permeated by his own sweat; he could almost feel that rough tongue running its way tantalisingly over his quivering flesh.

No, what had struck him most was the fire in Jack's eyes, that look that was hard to comprehend and yet at the same time so beautifully simple.

Involuntarily, Ianto's hand came to stroke his swollen cock, his fingers shaking as they moved over his tingling flesh. He could see that look burning into the back of his eyes, that wicked grin that seemed to chase away every last vestige of lucidity from his brain. His hand pumped faster, wrist twisting as he worked his fingers breathlessly, his pulse becoming frenetic with each movement. All he wanted was that release, just that brief moment when he could blank out his mind to all that was happening. He wanted it _now_.

Actually, what he really wanted was Jack, but that wasn't going to happen. So, for now he would close his eyes and pretend that the ghostly Jack swimming across his eyelids was real, that it was _Jack's_ hand gripping his erection, tugging at the flesh, and not his own sad, sorry self.

It wasn't particularly satisfying as he came; the phantom Jack of his dreams was no substitute for the real Jack, but it was all he had. He milked his orgasm for as long as possible, dragging out each wave, his fist clenching hard along with the muscles of his groin. He was going to enjoy this, _dammit_, he was going to take what he needed and then he was going to get up, clean the sheets, and go to work.

He couldn't have what he wanted. But, Ianto realised, he was just going to have to make substitutes because he couldn't spend the rest of his life wallowing. Instead of pretending that everything was fine, he had to face the truth; he was falling apart and he _needed_ a little release. So, that's what he'd given himself, as best he could with only his own resources at hand – quite literally.

Lying back as he reached his limit, he grimaced at the mess pooling on his stomach, stretching his arms above his head as he began to reorganise his brain, ready for the day ahead.

Rhiannon had been right; he would always survive, the best he possibly could.

* * *

"Ianto, to the right!"

Gwen's shout caught him off guard, and he turned around before he her words had registered in his brain. Luckily, that was the effect she had been hoping for, as the Weevil shot past him, mere inches past where his face had been only a few moments before. Clenching his gun in his hand, and feeling the reassuring bulk of the sedative in his pocket, Ianto stumbled backwards, squaring his shoulders to face the Weevil.

He could feel Gwen behind him, gun drawn and arm outstretched as she kept an eye out for anymore assailants. He knew that Martha was back at the Hub, and he could hear her broken voice over the comms system, keeping up a constant stream of reassurance that they were still here, still going, still _alive_.

If he'd had time to think about it, he could almost have pretended that this was a normal hunt; the singing adrenaline in his veins, that beauteous shiver of pure fear running down his spine, that sense of camaraderie that the hunts never failed to inspire. It was simple, primal, so alike his own solitary wank that morning, but at the same time so wholly different.

But, of course, this was not the time to think. So Ianto didn't. It was instinct, training; they did what they had to do and they did it well.

A bullet whistled past his ear as Gwen fired at the Weevil, the shot deflecting from the padded shoulder of its boiler suit. The creature snarled, obviously angered by the attack. Good. Somehow, since Gray's attack, the Weevils seemed to have found some sort of sense within them, growing trickier with each hunt. That bullet was enough to knock whatever train of thought off the tracks, to reignite that pure, primal instinct that drove these creatures to attack and kill. It was a dangerous tactic, but it was the only one they had.

Gwen bolted to the side as soon as her finger squeezed the trigger, heading into the shadows and making her away around to the back as the Weevil advanced on Ianto. She cast a look at him as she went, the reassuring confidence in his eye spurring her on; she holstered the gun, reaching to her back pocket to pull out a brown cotton sack that was thick enough to blind the creature they were facing. Gwen had to admit, bringing down Weevils in this way sometimes made her feel like a Steve Irwin wannabe, but, without a true leader, it was a method they had drawn together themselves.

Ianto nodded slowly as she came within inches of the Weevil's back, keeping eye contact with the creature to distract it as best he could. He could feel his heart hammering, his blood singing in his veins. The sedative in his hand was steady, even though every nerve ending was on fire. The creature quivered with unregulated rage as the blood seeped from the wound on its shoulder, and he braced himself, tensing every single muscle to prepare for the movement that was surely to come.

Everything seemed to blur into one. Within a fraction of a second, the Weevil lunged forward, jaw dislocated in order to open his mouth as wide as it possibly could; Gwen moved with it, the coarse sack in her hand outstretched over the wrinkled head, forcing the bag over its eyes; Ianto's hand came up, the syringe in his hand prepared and ready as it sank into the flesh of the Weevil's neck.

Before the sedative could take hold, however, the alien lashed out, the bag over its eyes not calming it the way that would usually work. That mouth opened again, the head whipping past Ianto's body; he felt a sharp pain penetrating his shoulder, just along from his neck, and he let a short cry force its way from his lips as he struggled to complete the task. The smarting of his shoulder began to ring through him, but he gritted his teeth and forced the syringe deeper, fingers pushing determinedly at the plunger.

As suddenly as the scuffle had begun, it ended; the Weevil flopped to the side, body becoming limp under the force of the industrial strength sedative Ianto had administered. It was Gwen's grip on the sack around its head the kept it from falling on top of Ianto, and the moment it stopped twitching she hauled it to the side so that she could examine her wounded colleague. She had heard his cry, as much as he had tried to muffle it, and she had seen the drops of blood that flew away from him with the Weevil's attack.

She was worried.

Ianto propped himself against the wall, one hand coming to his shoulder, applying pressure to try and stem the flow of blood. The wound was deep, and as the adrenaline began to ebb away from his system he could feel his head begin to swim. Gwen's arm came around to steady him, fingers peeling away at the material of his shirt to expose the sliced skin; as the cold air hit it Ianto sucked in air between his teeth, fingers gripping onto Gwen's arm tightly, but it was better than getting any of his clothing fibres caught in his flesh.

Gwen touched her comm, brushing a lock of hair away from Ianto's face and smiling reassuringly as she did so.

"Martha? We need you."

* * *

"You will hold still, won't you?"

Ianto gave Martha a withering look, the best he could whilst fighting through the pain shooting up his arm.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Wincing as the syringe pierced the skin around the wound, Ianto kept a tight hold onto the corner of the table he was seated on, his fingernails beginning to ache as they hit cold stone. Eventually, though, he felt a wave of numbness ebb through his arm, the sudden lack of feeling causing him to exhale gently through his nose, his grip on the table loosening as his arm went pleasantly heavy.

Martha began to clean the wound methodically and carefully, ensuring that the ripped flesh was sterilised to kill any germs that could be transferred from the creature's bite. Taking a hold of the needle and thread on the table beside the medical slab, she began to stitch the broken skin together, as intricately and delicately as if she were adding to an exquisite tapestry.

"So…where did you go, when Gwen sent you away?"

Ianto glanced up from where he had been transfixed by Martha's handiwork.

"I went to see my sister."

"Oh? I didn't know you had a sister."

"I try not to bring her into it too much – she's got two kids and her husbands not got many brain cells to rub together, so I try and leave her out of it."

"That's fair…" Martha changed her angle, eyes barely leaving Ianto's shoulder as she continued to work. "Gwen says you hadn't been home since all this started, since the night when…well…y'know…"

Ianto looked sheepish, lowering his head as he did so, deliberately averting his gaze away from her. Somehow, though, she managed to bore her eyes into Ianto's own, as well as keeping her focus set on the task in front of her. He could feel the gentle tugging at his skin, growing slightly more violent as she continued.

"Apart from that night…she said you took Jack home…"

Ianto swallowed heavily, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

"Martha…"

"Ianto."

The Welshman clamped his mouth shut, teeth clanging against each other as her look silenced him.

"What happened? Gwen says that when she arrived in the morning, he was naked and you were barely just dressed. You fucked him, didn't you?"

"Martha, please…"

"Why, Ianto? He's so fragile, there's barely any sanity left in him, and you had sex with him? What made you think, in your wildest dreams, that that would be a good idea?"

"No, it wasn't what you…"

"He's been through so much, he's seen so much, his brain just can't hold it anymore. He needed reassurance, gentle looking after, not fucking. Jesus, Ianto, buried for 2,000 years, and then he wakes up to submit himself to yet another person, to be taken advantage of? Who knows what damage that might have done?"

Ianto raised his eyes, meeting her own searchingly.

"You don't think that…that it made it worse?"

That protective fire in Martha's deep, brown irises began to fade as she took in the softened look of Ianto's face, that weary, panicked expression that was now searching her own with sheer terror.

"You don't think that I…?"

"I don't know, Ianto," her voice was soft, the flames watered down by her sudden compassion for this scared young man who was trying so desperately to hold himself together for the people he loved. "I can't make any medical judgements, because there's no precedent – there's no other person like Jack. Can you just tell me…what happened?"

"He was fine…as fine as he could possibly be. But he was still Jack, as much as he was hurting he held himself together, because that's what Jack always does. We did what we have to do, because that's what we've always done…only…" Ianto breathed in, heavily, his breath catching as Martha could almost see the memories dancing across his eyelids.

"When Gwen left, he shot himself. And then when he came around he was gone. There was just something that wasn't there. It took him ages to recognise me, and he was so…vulnerable…I couldn't just leave him. I had to get him away so I took him back to my flat. I didn't want anything, I just wanted to know he was _here_, but he wanted it – he'd been buried for so long, Martha, he just wanted to feel again. I didn't enjoy it – I didn't want to do it – but I had to."

Ianto didn't realise that he'd been babbling, that the words had been spilling out of him, until Martha laid a gentle hand onto his arm, thumb gently caressing the newly-stitched wound. He looked at her sharply.

"I didn't make it worse. It was what he wanted. He's Jack, he doesn't talk, you know he doesn't."

Martha smiled sadly.

"I know. And, for the record, I have no idea what effect fucking him will have had. Probably none. I was just worried that you'd…"

"Taken advantage of him?"

"Yes," Martha sucked in a breath, her fingers working quickly as she began to add a gentle dressing to the line of Ianto's injury. "Please don't be offended, it's not you. It's just…did he ever tell you what happened in the time he was away, the time when we met?"

"No, he didn't. I know it was longer for him…time travel, and all that…and that something bad happened. But I never asked, and he never said. The more you push it with Jack, the more he hides away…I gave up trying to force anything out of him a long time ago."

"That's probably for the best," with one final _snip_ of her scissors, Martha finished applying the dressing, rolling a bandage once, twice, and taping it in place. "But, you should know that something bad _did_ happen. I'm not going to tell you, because I think that's Jack's story to tell, but he was…taken advantage of."

She watched Ianto flinch ever so slightly, a movement so tiny it would have been missed by someone less observant than herself. She nibbled at her bottom lip, stepping closer to hand Ianto his shirt.

"I just think it's right you know that I think this goes back further than you think. You deserve to know before you dig yourself in any deeper."

Ianto smiled, easing the ripped shirt back over his head, wincing as it brushed the bandaged wound.

"Thank you," he adjusted his clothing, nervously, something shining in his eyes that Martha just couldn't place. He raised his gaze to meet hers, sliding himself off of the table and straightening himself as best he could with his heavily swathed shoulder. Sighing heavily, he began to ascend the stairs, only stopping to turn and flash her a sad smile.

"The problem is: I think I've dug myself in too deep already."

* * *

_Thank you once again for reading. If you have any suggestions on how I can improve, please don't hesitate to leave a comment. _


	11. A Walk Around The World

_A/N: I went paintballing this weekend, and now sport a large and very painful lump on my head. This shall be a warning to all people never to go paintballing with a group of boys aged 18-22. As such, if anything here doesn't make sense, or is just a little too wacky or "out there", especially some of the dream sequences, I'm blaming it all on that lump. Thank you all for your support - just a shameless plug to say your reviews mean so much to me, so I'm now officially fishing for them. Much of this fic has grown from people's comments, so keep them coming to keep the fic moving! _

* * *

**Kryptonite**

**_"I took a walk around the world..."_**

The bed was cold.

Martha hated sleeping in a cold bed; it reminded her of all those times when she had come in from the hospital, returning to a quiet house, the arguments of her broken family still ringing in her ears. It reminded her of being lonely. For these last few months, it had meant an awful lot for her to share her bed with someone, to feel the warmth radiating from him as he lay beside her, giving her that irreplaceable sense of connection.

She had needed that after she had chosen to leave the Doctor. It had been for her own sanity, of course, but she knew that sleeping in the TARDIS had caused her to become accustomed to the sense that she was surrounded by life. When sleeping in the Timelord's machine, you were never alone; the ship itself wrapped a protective blanket around you, its sentiency seeming to sing you to sleep.

Reaching out with one hand, Martha smoothed her fingers over the empty side of the bed, imagining that the contours breaking against her skin was the body of the person she usually shared a bed with. The mattress was cold again beneath her touch, and she stretched out her arms, spreading her body like a child making snow angels in an attempt to fill the entirety of the rickety hotel bed she had been forced to sleep on.

She sighed, burying her face into the pillow as she spread herself further. She wanted to block out the constant churning of the faulty air conditioning system, to pretend that the couple next door were not having furious, deafening make-up sex after a violent row, to close her eyes and be back in London, with UNIT, with her family, lying on her soft mattress and falling warmly, contentedly into sleep in the arms of her fiancé.

The last time she had stayed in Cardiff, Jack had made absolutely sure that she was to be given the best accommodation possible, and with the almost unlimited bucket of funds that Torchwood seemed to have this had been exactly what he had managed to achieve – though, to be truthful, Martha had always suspected it had been Ianto's easy charm rather than Jack's lusty eye that had won her the premier suite.

This was an entirely different kettle of fish, although reasonable, given the circumstances. The Torchwood she had been witness to in the past few days seemed to be struggling to hold themselves together, let alone having the energy or the inclination to ensure she had anything other than a crummy B&B to stay in. Martha punched the pillow ever so slightly, thoughts of Jack and his teammates, both living and lost, filtering through into her mind.

They needed her help. She was the one with the fresh mind, the unbiased eye, the one who had remained relatively untouched by the virus of insanity that had infected the Torchwood team. She could see the tears held behind Gwen's eye, that loss of hope that was so terribly haunting; she sensed the tautness in Ianto's muscles, that way that he looked upon Jack with an unutterable combination of love for the old Jack, and hatred for what he had become.

Tears blurred her vision, and she used the corner of the pillow to wipe them away. In the grand scheme of things, Gwen and Ianto knew Jack a lot more closely, intimately and for a lot longer than she herself had know him. But her protective nature towards the man was unrivalled, even by her feelings towards the Doctor. She knew what had happened to him on the Valiant, knew the horrors her sister had seen done to him, knew that he whole family woke up still haunted by his screams.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced the tears back to where they came from through force of will alone, before reaching out to the phone. The bed may be cold, she decided as she dialled in the oh-so familiar number, but her world didn't have to be. The dial tone clicked, and Martha felt a smile spread across her face at the comforting voice.

"Hi Tom. I know it's late but can we just – talk?"

* * *

Gwen curled herself onto the couch, tucking her legs further beneath her as she melded herself to Rhys' warm frame. There was something on the television in front of them – she wasn't actually paying attention, but she could see the annoying lights flickering in the corner of her mind and feel the deep rumbling laugher vibrating through her husband's chest. It was soothing, in a way, and she snuggled as closely as she could into it.

A slight twinge of guilt ran through her alongside the warm contentedness. She tried desperately to suppress it, feeling tears gather behind her eyelids as she failed in her desperate attempts to withhold her emotions. Sometimes, she wished she had the stamina of her younger colleague, to be able to successfully hold back and control everything she was feeling, rather than allowing herself to be read like an open book. At other times, however, she could see the way that each constrained emotion ate away a little bit more of Ianto's soul; it was then that she realised that she could never do it, and she wished she could find a way to stop his own cycle of suppression.

Try as she might, she could not block the thoughts of her lonely colleagues from her head.

Today had been a good day for Jack, in the grand scheme of things. For one, he had remained awake for almost the entirety of their working day, sometimes even gathering together the lucidity to assist them in some of their projects, if only on a very small level. As such, Martha had made a suggestion that had terrified them all – she had suggested that they leave Jack, as good a day as he had had, alone in the Hub. It hadn't happened since they had lost Tosh and Owen, and, without a precedent, Martha was trying anything she could to get some idea of the boundaries and options available to them.

Ianto had been a mess at the thought, although he'd contained it. Gwen had been not much better, and she had openly opposed Martha's suggestions. A small part of her was angered at the fact that this woman, however much they trusted her and owed to her, had entered the scene and begun to make the decisions. But, a larger part of her new that Martha was like having the fog wiped away from their eyes; she was new, she was separate and she wasn't falling apart. They needed her, because they couldn't very well take care of themselves at the minute.

"Hey, what's this about?"

She inclined her head slightly to take in her husband's concerned look, painfully aware of the tears that had begun to spill out of her eyes. An arm encircled her, drawing her further into his warmth.

"D'you want to talk?"

Forcing a smile, Gwen nodded, propping herself up on her arm so that she could lean against his shoulder.

"I'm worried."

Rhys nodded, biting his tongue as he waited for her to continue.

"They're all alone, they have nobody, and I'm here with you when I feel I should be with them, just because...why do I deserve to be happy? I don't."

She bowed her head, not even bothering to stop the tears now coursing down her cheeks.

"I'm so scared we're going to lose them. Jack's already gone, and Ianto's following him - he won't admit it, but he's suffering, and every day I see him get dragged down a little more and there's _nothing_ I can do.

"You can _be there_ for them Gwen," Rhys put a gentle finger beneath her chin, tilting her head upwards so that their eyes were level. "if that's all you can do, as long as it's your best - I'd tell you not to beat yourself up, but you will, so there's no point, but they just need you to be there for them now. And if that means a few extra hours or nights at work, then you should do it. There's no way I could stop you, even if I wanted to, you stubborn cow."

He paused, seeming to think for a second.

"Y'know what? Invite him over. Him and Jack both...maybe it'll do the cocky bastard some good if we just treat him normal, like. It's not much, and it's not any of your fancy science-fiction supernatural bollocks, but it's as good as I can give. S'the least I can do."

Gwen grinned through her tears.

"You know, Rhys Williams? Working with Torchwood, you sometimes forget that the simplest way is the answer," she poked him in the chest. "Thank you for being so bloody normal, you big idiot."

* * *

It had been a while since Ianto had experienced dreams this vividly. Usually he slept deeply enough to block them out; or perhaps it was that psychic training that unconsciously kicked in to block away the painful memories through sheer survival instinct. Either way, it was very rare that he dreamed. Which made it all the harder now that his nightmares had hit him again with a vengeance.

_There's blood on the kitchen floor. He can feel it seeping into his toes as he sits, frozen to the cold tiles. There's tears on his cheeks, but he doesn't think they're his - an arm around him, a small high voice in his ear, shaking. He doesn't understand what's happening, but he knows he can't move. More footsteps, bigger footsteps, a tall stocky frame enters the room, pushing them both aside. That's when the wailing starts, growling like a lion, advancing towards the source of the blood - Ianto can't help but stare at what everyone else is staring at._

_"Mummy?"_

Ianto bolted upright, sweat clinging to his clammy skin as he struggled to draw breath. He could feel his whole body shaking violently, twitching in sharp spasms as he struggled to calm himself. A scratchy sob welled up in his throat, and he forced his fists between his teeth, biting down hard to suppress it. With a rough shake of his head, he lay back, readjusting his position on the sweat-slicked pillows; he was determined not to go back to sleep, not subject himself to those dreams again, _but he was so fucking tired.._.

_He's trapped in a room. He can't see, he can't hear; all he knows is that it's dark and he'd rather he wasn't here. Someone is coming towards him, he can feel the thumping along the floor. A light is switched on, and a giant beetroot face leers towards him, fist clenched as he mumbles something about "you fault" and "living up to it" and "fucking murderer". Words that have haunted him for as long as he can remember. Ianto backs away, but not before the face begins to contort, twisting painfully; the skin darkens, the figure slims, the hair grows and curls, the grease falling out of it until it is as shiny as he can remember. This face is beautiful. This is a face that_ _he has always loved, for so long, a face that he let down, a face that he let melt away into a monster. He doesn't want this face, it hurts him more than the fists._

_Lisa..._

_The wall behind him stops him from escaping any further, and the face descends towards him, tiny fingers resting on his shoulders and squeezing more tightly than such a small frame should muster. He can feel lips forced on his before the skin transforms into metal, from soft to hard, steel fingers digging into his shoulders and into the flesh of his neck, pucnturing through his windpipe so that he can't even scream..._

This time, he was crying as he woke up. Sitting up and curling himself into a ball, he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and let the sobs shake him. The faces of all those people he had failed in his life, all the people he had failed to appease, failed to save, all the times that he could never _do enough - _they swam across his eyelids, taunting him. They were always there, of course, in the back of his mind, but generally he was good at suppressing them. It felt as thought a crack had emerged across his brain, and everything he had tried to keep back was seeping through. He closed his eyes, just for a second, just to block the images out, not to sleep, he wasn't going back to sleep...

_The wind in the graveyard is biting, like teeth tearing into his clothing and piercing his flesh. He's surrounded by people, people in black - must be mourners, he thinks, but who are they mourning? He's in black as well. Who did he lose? Surely he should know who he should be grieving? There's women all around him, tears streaking their faces; men with protective arms around their wives and daughters. He feels alone, vulnerable, exposed. And then there's..._

_"Gwen!"_

_She doesn't hear him. She walks right past, drenched in tears. But...she casts a glance back, and Ianto follows the gaze. There's a row of graves, one next to the other. He can read the words inscribed on each one._

_**"Catrin Jones: 1961 - 1986"  
"Lisa Hallett: 1981 - 2007"  
"Toshiko Sato: 1975 - 2008"  
"Owen Harper: 1981 - 2008" **_

_He's crying now. He doesn't want to cry, and it's not the names that make him cry - it's those words, scratched along the bottom of each one, spiky and cruel and ugly:_

_**"You didn't do enough." **_

_He kneels down before them, his whole body convulsing. It's true, so true, it's all his fault. Everyone knows it and now it's there for all to see. Suddenly, he sees another grave. This one is newly dug, fresh. He leans across, terrified of what he'll find but unable to look away:_

_**"Jack Harkness..." **_

_

* * *

_  
Jack Harkness really didn't know what the problem was.

Wrapping his coat tighter around his body to ward off the biting Welsh wind, and clenching his hand comfortingly around his Webley, Jack took another step forward, the monitor on his wrist leading him to the location of the creature. He knew that the others would be severely disapproving of what he was doing, but he felt fine. He'd been a bit..._off_, recently, that was true, but he was perfectly capable of going on a simple Weevile hunt. He knew more than anyone what he himself was capable of, how far he could be pushed, and he hated being made to feel like glass. That was exactly why he hadn't told anyone about what happened when he was on the Va...

Sucking in a breath, Jack shook his head, forcing away the thoughts. He was fine. He was in control. He could think what he liked, and if there was an unpleasant thought then he could push it away. He could. Because he was fine. And that was what fine people did.

Jack Harkness wasn't scared of anything. He knew that. Without fear, he would walk across fire to save those he loved, to protect the Earth from the foul creatures that came through the Rift. That was exactly what he was doing now - he was going to prove to Ianto, and Gwen, and Martha that he was still _here_ and they needed to stop treating him like a child. He admitted that he'd been struggling to stay awake recently, but that was to be expected after what had happened to him - being buried alive was _not_ a particularly pleasant experience, he had to concede - and it wasn't like he was in a constant state of unconsciousness. He was awake now, and he was fit for duty - this was his team and he was going to lead them the best he could. That was his job.

A snarling sound ricocheted around the walls of the alley, leading him towards a large metal wastebin; he could smell the stench of the Weevil filtering through his nostrils, and he wrinkled his nose. One foot in front of the other, pressing his toes gently into the leather of his boots so as not to make a sound; it was as if he had never been away as he cocked the gun, pulling it back so that he could get a straight line of sight. There were some things, he decided that you just couldn't unlearn, things that stuck with you and burrowed into your mind. He would always have the skills defend the people he loved; that was a passion engrained into his heart, and it would never go away.

As the Weevil suddenly burst from the shadows, teeth outstretched and spittle dripping from it's ragged mouth, Jack aimed his weapon.

As the creature ran forward, arms oustretched, the dim light of hunger shining behind its yellowing gaze, Jack focused his eyes.

And, as the creature sank its teeth into the side of his neck, Jack forgot how to fire his gun.

* * *

_If you want to know what happens next, click that little button that says "review"...  
Thank you so much for your comments, for your support, and for your continued interested in this fiction. _


	12. What Happens Now And Then

_A/N: Ianto isn't very nice in this chapter. That's just a warning. _

* * *

**Kryptonite**

"_**I really don't mind what happens now and then"**_

Ianto's coat wrapped around his legs, almost sending him hurtling to the floor as he sped down the hospital corridor. All around him there was an incessant bustling; people talking, nurses rushing, the odd cry of someone in pain or the gentle snoring of those still under the influence of general anaesthetic. The whiteness of the walls was piercing to his tired, weary eyes, sparking sharply against his retinas and causing him to blink furiously.

The only thing keeping the mechanics of his body working was the panic that was rushing through him.

He held the phone to his ear, praying quietly that this time he would get a connection. The infuriating sound of the "engaged" tone pierced his ear drums, causing him to curse violent and earning him a few dirty looks from passers by.

He really didn't care.

Catching hold of a nurse, he managed to skid to a stop.

"I'm looking…for…" he was breathing heavily, and she patiently gave him time to draw oxygen into his lungs. "Um…Jack Harkness…I got a call…I'm Torchwood."

"Torchwood? Ianto Jones?"

Ianto nodded as he drew his ID (thank God he'd had the sense, in all this madness, to remember _that_), confirming his identity to the blue-clad woman.

"This way please," she took his arm gently, gripping a clipboard beneath the crook of her arm as she steered him calmly in the right direction. His muscles clenched with the sudden release as he was forced to keep to her steady pace, and he felt an uncomfortable cramp beginning to work its way up his right leg.

"What happened…why is he...?"

"He was found in an alleyway. He has severe contusions to his neck – they think it was an animal attack - but he's in a stable condition. We found your number in his coat pocket, along with a note instructing us to call you should he be in any trouble."

"Ah…yes…" Ianto remembered placing that note in Jack's coat pocket some time ago, even before Tosh and Owen had…well, when there had still been five of them. As much as Jack appeared indestructible, there was always that constant worry that he would be injured and not killed – Jack had told him that these wounds, whilst healing quicker than normal, still took time to fix themselves. Or the fear that he would wake up in trouble, or endangered.

Come to think of it, the immortality thing had probably added more worries and fears than it had avoided.

Of course, he had been sure that Jack would find it and remove it. He didn't even want to _begin_ to consider what it meant that he hadn't.

It was just too early in the morning for that.

The nurse led Ianto to a ward on the right of the corridor, a room filled with the cacophony of beeping instruments and whirring machines that he had become to accustomed to during his time at Torchwood. It was akin to being at the Hub again, with the constant reassurance of technology behind him. Ianto felt almost calmed.

And then he looked at the bed.

Jack was lying prone on the covers, wires and machines curling around and within his body. A thick, white gauze had been wrapped around his neck, tinged ever so slightly with blood that had seeped through from the wound. The steady sound of the heart monitor was not as reassuring as it should be; it was more like a ticking time bomb, reminding Ianto of each passing moment that was being wasted for them, each minute that he was regretting rather than treasuring.

But that wasn't the worst part. Ianto's eyes flickered up his body, taking in the metal that was binding him to the plastic railing of the bed, seeing the intra-venous drip pumping God-knows-what into the immortal's body. Jack's eyes were closed, yet slightly open, his whole body limp and unearthly – it wasn't like he was sleeping at all, it was more like he was trapped in unconsciousness and fighting to get out.

"He's having a nightmare," Ianto was well aware that his voice was quiet and trembling. "You have to let him wake up."

"He's been heavily sedated, Mr Jones, it was for his own…"

"And you've handcuffed him to the bed! Why would you do that?"

"Please, Mr Jones, we need you to please try to stay calm…"

"I don't give a _flying fuck_ what you need me to do!" Ianto's voice had descended, his tone low and rumbling. "Don't you understand what you've done?"

Moving forward, Ianto knelt beside Jack's bed, his hand smoothing gently over his cheek. He could feel the effort that Jack was using to try and force his way through the sedatives coursing through him, confining him to his own mind. Something caught in the back of his throat as he brought his body closer, flattening the palm of his hand against the side of Jack's face and running the tips of his fingers through those lanky sideburns. He was so _vulnerable_, so unlike the man he had grown to…

Ianto swallowed hard.

"Take the handcuffs off."

"Mr Jones…"

"I said: _take the handcuffs off_."

The woman sucked in a sharp breath, setting down her clipboard and leaning her head out of the door. Ianto barely registered what she was saying as he kept up his vigil, fingers carding gently through greasy locks of Jack's usually perfectly-styled hair.

"Come on Jack, wake up for me."

Jack's head twitched ever so slightly, before snapping back to that deathly stillness, as if his strength were attached to an elastic band that had reached its limit. Ianto moved his other hand, sliding it down his arm – which was wrapped in wiring and bandages – so that he could thread his fingers in between Jack's own.

His thumb ran a steady beat over the back of Jack's hand, the pad of it running over the reassuring feel of the raised veins and the coarse, work-hardened skin. He hoped it was breaking through the drugs, but deep down he knew it was for his own comfort.

A hand rested on his shoulder, a heavy touch, but Ianto refused to lift his gaze from Jack's struggling face.

"Mr Jones?"

Ianto moved his head just a little, giving the words the slightest acknowledgement whilst at the same time making his rebuke clear.

"You're Mr Harkness' next of kin?"

"No, but I suppose I'm the closest you'll get," Ianto shrugged. "He's my boss."

"Okay. My name is Dr Patanjali, and I've been in charge of Mr Harkness'…"

"Captain."

"I'm sorry?"

"His name is _Captain _Harkness," Ianto voice was forced through his teeth in a sharp hiss, his cheeks sucked in with the effort of keeping his body and his voice steady. Dr Patanjali seemed to note this, and his hand slid conspicuously away from Ianto's tensed shoulder.

"I've been in charge of Captain Harkness' care."

"You have?" Ianto turned ever so slightly, his eyes still half focused on his prone lover as his gaze shifted accusingly. "So, would you like to tell me why he's drugged to oblivion and handcuffed – fucking _handcuffed_ – to the bed?"

"Mr Jones, he was losing blood. The wound was deep, it's a miracle he survived…"

Ianto snorted, catching the doctor off guard.

"Um…I mean…when he regained consciousness he was in a lot of distress, and it was for his own safety and the safety of those trying to help him. He needed to be calmed down so that we could treat him, Mr Jones."

"So you decided to trap him in his nightmares and chain him up? That's your idea of a good treatment?"

"If we hadn't, who knows what might have happened…"

"No? Well, I have a pretty good idea, and it's a damned sight better than what will happen now that you've decided to stick your fucking do-gooder attitude in."

He was being unfair, he knew that. There was no way the doctors could have any idea – all they wanted to do was look after their patient, to make sure that his wounds were tended. A larger part of him, however, was sick of trading in rationality over his emotions.

Ianto stood up to his full height, his stocky frame bearing down on the slim form of the olive-skinned medic. Dr Patanjali backed away slightly, obviously shrinking under Ianto's threatening gaze. He opened his mouth, eager for one last attempt at compromise.

"We didn't know anything about him, he was brought in with no identification, our first aim was to save him, to deal with his wounds. There was nothing else we could…"

"I don't care. I don't want to hear it. I'm taking him with me."

Ianto turned back to Jack, his last comment acting as a full stop on the conversation. Bending to his knees again, he placed a hand on Jack's wrist, working his fingernails underneath the cold metal chaining him to the bed.

"Before you say anything, Dr Patanjali, I work for Torchwood. Go to your boss and quote code _TW131106_. We have jurisdiction over this now."

He took a deep breath, repressing the urge to bury his head in the soft hospital gown adorning Jack's torso.

"Can you please ring this number…" he reached into his pocket and handed over a crumpled piece of paper. "…and ask for Miss Martha Jones. She's in room 13. Tell her that Jack needs her help."

Dr Patanjali nodded jerkily, taking the piece of paper in his hand.

"Yes, Mr Jones."

As he turned to leave, Ianto raised his head one last time.

"Please can you close the door?"

Head bobbing in resigned assent, the young doctor took one last look at his patient and the withdrawn young man clutching at his wrist. He stepped forward suddenly, dropping a small metal object onto the bedclothes next to Ianto's hand.

"The key to the cuffs, Mr Jones," he replied to Ianto's enquiring gaze. "Look after him."

With that, the medic smiled a small smile and exited the room, closing the door gently behind him. As that blessed privacy descended over him, the young Welshman succumbed to the crushing weight pressing down on him, resting his face against Jack's chest and brushing his lips across the exposed skin peeping through the blue gown.

If he tried hard enough, he could pretend that a single tear didn't follow his lips to rest above Jack's heart.

* * *

He'd had to wait for Martha to arrive, with her alluring bed-tousled hair, easy charm and UNIT badge before he'd managed to get Jack out of the hospital. If he closed his eyes and ran a metaphorical sponge through his mind, he could force himself into believing that he hadn't spent the majority of that time fisting his hand in Jack's hospital gown, face buried in the immortals shoulder. He could, once again, pretend that everything was fine, and that he definitely, _definitely_, had not cried into Jack's skin.

And now here they were, Jack splayed out on the sofa of the Hub whilst they waited for the sedative to wear off. Ianto crossed his arms protectively over his chest, a fierce buzzing drilling its way through his brain as he watched the hypnotic rise and fall of his lover's chest. He could feel Martha standing behind him, gentle fingers caressing his arm worriedly, but he refused to move or turn his head.

Eventually, he heard a gentle sigh as the fingers withdrew, footsteps ringing through the Hub as she left him to take up her usual post in Jack's office. He felt irrational anger sweep through his mind, causing his muscles to bristle and tense. _Jack's office_. She shouldn't be in there. Jack would be angry when he was cured.

_You stupid bastard, he's never going to be cured. Cut the fucking optimism and take note of reality; look what happened last time you kidded yourself everything would be fine._

Ianto shook his head fiercely, digging his fingers into his skin as he squeezed his arms tighter, hugging himself.

His lover twitched suddenly, and in a second Ianto's tensed limbs had unfurled. He crouched beside Jack, cupping the back of his head with a gentle hand as the immortal began to resurface into the waking world. Beginning to splutter, breath catching in his throat, the older man lurched forward; Ianto placed a hand against his chest, keeping him pinned firmly, but gently, into the couch. Beneath his fingertips, he felt that never-ending heart begin to speed up, its pace growing more frenetic along with his struggles, but Ianto remained firm…eyes focused on Jack's face…lips sealed defiantly shut.

After some time, he felt Jack soften beneath his fingers, leaning back into the course, ragged material. A hand came towards where his palm lay on Jack's chest, fingers pushing in between his own in an effort to link them together. Ianto's fingers remained rigid, and Jack settled for resting his hand on top of the younger man's.

"Ianto?"

Jack's voice was vulnerable, quiet, and pitiful. Hearing Jack like that, reduced to such a pathetic creature, sent another wave of painful anger shooting through Ianto's body. He hated, hated, _hated_ this _thing_ that had taken Jack's place.

"What were you doing?" he asked suddenly, eyes snapping to bore fiercely into Jack's grey-blue orbs. "Why did you leave?"

The immortal blinked.

"Weevil hunting."

"Excuse me?"

A curtain of confusion descended over Jack's trusting gaze, and he pushed himself up from his position on the bench. Ianto acquiesced, getting to his feet and stepping backwards to allow Jack room to claw himself into a standing position.

"Weevil hunting."

Jack didn't understand the darkening look spreading over Ianto's features, and he stepped backwards just a little. Ianto liked Weevil hunting. He remembered that. It was something they did together, something they enjoyed. Was that the problem, was Ianto upset that he'd done it on his own, did he want to do it with him?

"If you wanted to come with me…"

"_No_, I did not want to come with you, you _stupid fucker_," Ianto spat the syllables out, like venom flying from the fangs of a cobra. Jack flinched backwards. The younger man loomed to his full height and took a step towards him, fist raised and finger pointing – Jack felt himself shrivel beneath the piercing gaze.

"Why would you _do_ that? After all this time, when I – _we_ – have been working so hard, and now you go and _fuck it all up_."

Ianto began to pace, his feet hitting the floor purposefully. The immortal found himself transfixed by the beat, eyes focused on the steady movement of those feet, following each movement. It was easier than having to look at those fierce eyes.

"I have spent too much time on you, looking after you, trying to make you better. Even when you couldn't remember who I was, I was _there_, I kept going, because that's what everyone fucking _expects_ me to do. I just want you to be better, _dammit_, I just want you to be Jack again. And I thought we were getting somewhere, because you were fine, but then you had to go and be fucking hero. We've worked too hard for you to fuck it up now."

Stopping his pacing, Ianto turned, the anger of his eyes swimming in tears. Jack bit his lip, his whole body trembling as the backs of his knees hit the edge of the sofa, halting his backwards movement. He braced his arm behind him on the wall, stopping himself from the falling onto the sofa – he didn't know why, but he just knew that he had to stay upright. If he stayed upright, then they couldn't get him.

"_Jesus_ Jack, I just…" Ianto took a step forward, tensing as Jack seemed to meld further into the grotty scenery of the Hub, worming his way into the furniture and away from him. Jack was trying to get away. Jack was _scared_ of him. Ianto felt something in him break.

He was sick of this. Fucking tired of everything. Every day something else was there to cut him, to wound him; every single second there was something else gnawing at his mind, desperate to claw him closer to insanity. His eyes met Jack's, seeing those pupils blown wide with terror. He just wanted this to be _over_, wanted everything to be _normal_.

So, before he could let a rational thought into his brain, he'd stepped forward, grabbed Jack's face between his hands, and forced their lips together…

* * *

_Please review if you can. My muse feeds on comments! _

_Thank you for reading.  
_


	13. The Angry Lover Tells Himself Many A Lie

_I finally gathered together enough to write this chapter. Served Cold has kind of taken over my life, as it is a baby I have been nurturing virtually ever since Children of Earth aired almost a year ago, so for a while it completely took over my mind. The updates of Kryptonite will therefore be less frequent than the updates for Served Cold, but I am still working on it, and I still intend to finish it. As my friends once said to me, writer's block is the soul's way of saying you're not ready to write something, so I'm going to let this come to me at its own pace. I really don't want to force it. _

_(I've stopped using lyrics as the basis for chapters, because this has stretched itself beyond what I originally intended, and has outgrown the song lyrics. There are also not enough lines in the song for me to use. Each chapter will have a title, but relevant to the chapter and probably a quote, rather than me searching for a lyric to fit. Thank you.)  
_

_Thank you so much for sticking with me, and to all of you out there who have also left your comments on Served Cold, you really do not know how much it means to me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 13**

** "The Angry Lover Tells Himself Many A Lie"**  
**_(Publilius Syrus)_**

_Before he could let a rational thought into his brain, he'd stepped forward, grabbed Jack's face between his hands, and forced their lips together…_

Ianto realised what he was doing seconds after he had pressed his mouth against Jack's, but it was too late. The damage had been done.

He pulled away fiercely, hands dropping from Jack's face; he could feel his lips tingling, a guilty shudder running down from his stomach to his groin. As much as he willed his body to co-operate, the feel of Jack's lips, however tense, sent a wave of longing running through his synapses. God, he was tired, so _lonely_. All he wanted was to take Jack and fuck him into oblivion, to lose himself, to enclose his body and his mind in that pliant, loving body. All he wanted was that release, for that fire to be cooled, and he had to force himself to take a step backwards.

When his eyes met Jack's, however, all thoughts of fire and quenching and arousal died within him.

"God Jack, I'm sorry…"

Jack backed away, sinking into the couch. He had one hand covering his lips, rubbing roughly at where Ianto's uninvited touch had just been, the other raised stiffly in front of his body, a solid bar in between them both.

"Please…" he whimpered, his eyes glazed, looking both at Ianto and yet past him at the same time. The Welshman felt a lump block his throat; he swallowed as hard as he could, the force of it causing tears to gather in the corners of his eyes.

"Jack…I didn't…please don't…" totally at a loss, he took a step forward, hand reaching out tentatively towards Jack's lank hair. His only intention was to run his fingers gently through those locks, to soothe and to stroke and to reassure that everything was _okay_. The problem was, he knew, nothing was okay anymore.

The second he raised his hand, Jack shrank back further, curling in on himself. Drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his head protectively, an unearthly whimpering began to emit itself from Jack's chest.

"Please don't, not again, I'll do what you want…"

"Jack…no…"

"I don't want you to …it hurts too much…"

Ianto shivered, backing away slightly, giving Jack the space he so obviously needed. His mind shot back to that first night, that night when Jack had touched him, had wanted to be touched, and had pleaded for Ianto to be around him and inside him. He remembered those tentative lips against his, unsure and terrified but wanting at the same time. Jack had _wanted_ to be touched, and so Ianto had touched him. He hadn't realised that this would…

"_He was taken advantage of."_

"Oh…God…" Ianto felt a wave of nausea flow through him and he stumbled back, steadying himself at the corner of a desk. Last time Jack had wanted it, had been asking him for it, that was true. It had been on his terms. It wasn't the sex that was the problem, it was the _force_ – and now Ianto had forced himself on Jack. Ianto's head began to spin as he began to consider what that meant, the whimpering from the couch providing an apt backing track to his painful thoughts.

Jack thought he was going to rape him. Jack thought he was a rapist.

_Fuck…fuck…fuck…fu…_

"Ianto, what happened?"

The Welshman jumped, his back hitting the corner of the desk. He could feel the tearing of the flesh, terrified when he found that he revelled ever so slightly in the release the pain caused him. It had been a long time since he felt any twinge of pleasure in pain; not since Lisa had died, not since those horrible weeks trying to block everything out the best he could. Jack had brought him out of that, allowed him to finally separate the two concepts – pain and pleasure – in his mind.

It frightened him when a wash of something akin to happiness shot through him as the ragged wood scraped through the skin of his back. Swallowing hard, he forced it down within himself, squashing it with as much as energy as he could muster, instead turning to focus on the scene in front of him.

Martha stood, her eyes wide, gaze flickering between the stricken young man standing (barely) before her and the shivering immortal curled on the couch. She also took in the swollen red lips of both men, the gentle panting of the Welshman and the slight flushed tinge to of his skin. She was intelligent – she knew that, and she had proved it – and she obviously put two and two together.

"Ianto…"

"I didn't mean to…I just wanted to…" Ianto's face was contorted, the extent of the spasms almost painful to watch. "I…"

Martha stepped forward, taking Jack gently in her arms. He flinched, peeking between his fingers to take in her appearance. The relief that seemed to spread across his face when he realised that it wasn't Ianto sent a wave of absolutely agony through the young Welshman. Doubling up again, Ianto clutched at his stomach.

"I think you should go."

He didn't need telling twice.

* * *

After a time, Martha managed to haul Jack into his office, settling him in the chair in the hope that he would find some comfort in the familiarity. Her heart was breaking in two; a dangerous split between anger at the actions of the Welshman, and furious guilt at having been the one to leave Jack here in the first place.

She shouldn't have done it. But he had been improving, and she had no idea what she was doing, however she may have tried to convince the others that she had the situation under control. They needed to believe that she had the solution, otherwise they had nothing to keep them going, but she lived in constant fear that they would discover just how incompetent she was.

Jack shivered slightly against her, and she curled herself around the side of him, his large frame feeling extremely fragile even beneath her own tiny hands. She ran a soft finger through his hair, brushing a lock back behind his ear; it broke her heart when he seemed to nuzzle into the touch, his trust of her sending a shock of guilt when she realised that this had been her fault.

"Jack?"

He looked up at her, recognition shining in his eyes.

"Martha."

She tried for a smile, quickly pushing it back when she realised that it wouldn't be convincing for him, even in this state.

"About Ianto…about what happened…"

She stopped as he shook his head violently, one hand breaking away from her to rub his lips, as if dispelling a foul taste from his mouth.

"No, I'm not letting them do that to me again."

A lump bubbled in her throat, the tears barely meeting any resistance as they dripped from her eyes.

"He wasn't trying to hurt you, I promise he wasn't…"

"He was."

"Jack…"

"He hates me, he wants to hurt me. He's right, I'm a freak, that was what the Master said, wasn't it? I'm a freak and he wouldn't even do it himself but he had to punish me someway," Jack's voice grew more hysterical as he continued, the register rising higher than Martha had ever heard his voice ascend.

"No, Jack, Ianto's not the same, he's just hurting and he's trying to help you," she could feel her temper fraying, just as she imagined Ianto's had, and she suddenly felt terrible for sending him away. "Jesus, Jack…he loves you…"

"No, no no no no no. He betrayed me, he tried to kill us all – he told me I would suffer, and that's what he's trying to do…" there was a conviction in Jack's voice, and the combination of terror and certainty was so unlike _Jack_ that Martha felt hatred, partly born of the guilt in her own mind, flowing through her veins.

"He just wants to get close to me, to hurt me. He's no different to anybody else. How could he possibly love me? He _hates_ me, Martha, and I don't want you to let him hurt me."

He nuzzled his face into Martha's shoulder, trembling against her as she curled her hands in his hair. Gentle tears dripped onto the tips of his locks as she cried, her shoulders shaking silently as she rocked Jack back and forth.

"I won't let anyone hurt you, Jack," she managed, her voice barely a whisper, her heart aching for the man in arms and the broken young man she had just ordered away. "I promise."

* * *

The heavy thump of the music shook Ianto his very core, shaking his muscles heavily and reverberating through his mind. He closed his eyes and let it sink in, the _thumpa thumpa_ like a pulse pushing him forward through the doors and into the fluorescent lighting of the club.

He'd been to a few of these as a teenager, and a few in the weeks of his suspension, but he'd never been a frequenter. As a youth, still undecided and slightly terrified, he'd walked into gay clubs such as this, soaking up the atmosphere with wide eyes before bolting the first moment that a guy, however hot, had come onto him. He guessed that he'd still been in denial, determined to react like that to prove that it wasn't true, that he was actually as straight as a rod. He'd fucked enough girls during that time, after all.

The atmosphere was oppressive, yet freeing. He'd dug out the outfit he'd worn on that first night when he'd tried to seduce Jack. It had been shock when it fit – he knew that he'd put on weight since that night. He'd never really eaten whilst he had been tending to Lisa, and had had no inclination to eat after her death. But he'd been feeling…contented, recently, at least as close to it as he could possibly hope to be, and the weight gain had been apparent, but not unwelcome.

Jack had seemed to like it, and he wondered what the man would think about the sudden loss of flesh from Ianto's bones.

He shook his head, hooking his thumbs beneath the leather of his studded belt, using the pain as he dug his palms into the metal studs to try and dispel the thoughts. He wasn't here to think about Jack. What he'd done to that man was, in his eyes, unforgivable, and he wanted to push it out of his mind.

With the combination of leather jacket, tight jeans and that fuck-me-now belt that he knew had made a definite impact on Jack upon their first meeting, it didn't take long before a lad approached him, offering to buy him a drink. Ianto was glad to see that he was the opposite of Jack, slight and blond with a thin face and deep brown eyes. He was also younger than Ianto, if only by a little, and Ianto liked the feeling of experience that came through with every slightly shy glance that the young man offered him.

It felt good to be in control.

It felt good to be wanted.

It felt good as Ianto pushed him up against the dark wall outside the club, both of them clothed save for hastily unbuckled belts and opened flies, shivering in the cold that seemed to bite through the fire in their bellies. It felt good as Ianto entered the boy's pliant body, feeling him grunt and tighten around him, gripping at the back of his thigh to push him further in.

There was no kissing, no real touching save the slapping of skin on skin as Ianto thrust as hard and as deeply as he could into the blonde, desperate to bring them both off as quickly as possible so that they could get their release and get out of this _bloody rain_. Those slim fingers scrabbled against the wall as he moved forward, his actions harsh and violent, groans building in the skinny throat as the young man curled his own hand around his cock.

Ianto tried his level best to focus just on the sensations of the tight arse around his aching cock, of the heightened feel of rain searing his skin, of strong fingernails gripping through his jeans and denting the flesh of his thigh. He managed to push away all thoughts of Jack, and Torchwood, and the reaction that he had gotten from the man that he lo…the man that he wanted to trust him.

This boy was letting him use his body, letting him fuck him and _enjoying it_; for now, he was going to grab everything he could.

He came with a primal grunt, feeling the younger man tightening around him as he followed, both of them breathing heavily against the rough brick of the wall. It was the release Ianto had been gagging for all day and night, and there was a slight twinge of victory niggling at his brain that he had finally, for once, succeeded in getting what he wanted.

Pulling away, he removed the condom and did up his trousers, moving with the precision and rhythm of a robot, his face devoid of emotion as he curled his coat around him to protect his body from the hammering rain.

He cast a quick glance at the blonde as he turned to leave, nodding formally, as he would to a colleague who had just worked with him on a particularly difficult project. As he began to walk away, however, a hand gripped his own, pulling him around to see a flushed face, confusion shining from the eyes.

"Will I see you again?"

He shook his head, too cold and too tired to even register the slight disappointment that crept onto the pale face.

"Can I have your name?"

Ianto raised his head, looking the young man in the eye with a sadness so fierce that the blonde couldn't help but take a shocked step backwards.

"I'm nobody," he whispered, his voice grating on his own ears. "Nobody at all."

* * *

Gwen wasn't asleep.

She curled up against her husband's sleeping form, lulled by the gentle snoring and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Still, she couldn't manage to drift off, so she lay on her back, her eyes open and staring wistfully at the ceiling.

There was something wrong. She could sense it. Something had happened, and she hated not knowing what it was. Perhaps she was paranoid, over-protective of the two men that she was gradually watching crumble before her eyes, but there was something stuttering in her heart, preventing her from closing her eyes for fear of what would happen if she did.

She loved them. She loved them both. She'd always felt a deep connection to Jack, something which, for a while, she had felt was akin to being in love. Her wedding had been difficult, finally being forced to make the choice that she had been unable – or perhaps unwilling? – to make before. But she had made the right choice, she was certain of that. Rhys could offer her so much love, so much acceptance, and Jack could only offer her uncertainty and pain.

She'd realised, on that day, that Jack could never truly be the man she wanted him to be. She would have asked too much of him, wanted him to be something that he wasn't, wanting him to be her perfect man. Whilst, without her realising, her perfect man had been staring her in the face all along, begging for her attention.

She turned her head, staring at the peaceful face of the man she loved, and wondering how Ianto was holding up in his dingy flat, all alone. She couldn't bear to think of him so broken. He had come such a long way since he had lost Lisa, become such a bright and vibrant person, however much he was still twisted inside. She knew that he loved Jack, even if neither of them would ever admit it; she was beginning to suspect that Jack felt the same way, however much she knew he hated the thought of submitting himself to one person.

Sighing deeply, she ran gentle fingers over Rhys' face, giggling slightly as he snuffled in sleep, each huff of laughter choking her with tears.

She couldn't lose them now.

Suddenly her phone began to vibrate, the gentle buzzing snapping her out of her reverie and bringing her back to Earth with a crash. She scrabbled violently to turn it off before it disturbed the sleep of her slumbering husband.

"Hello?"

"Gwen? It's Martha. I need your help."

* * *

_Thank you for reading._

_Please review to tell me what you think. Your comments continue to spur me on._


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